


Kindred Spirits

by LicieOIC



Series: The MovieVerse AU's [3]
Category: Anne of Avonlea (TV), Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Best Friends, Eleven & Amy Friendship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Family Bonding, Friendship, Growing Up Together, Kindred Spirits, Slow Build, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2159763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LicieOIC/pseuds/LicieOIC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah Jane Smith is given sole guardianship of her young nephew after the tragic death of her brother and his wife. The young man is a bit peculiar, but has a sweet and charming nature all his own. This is his story, as he finds friendship, adversity, and eventually love, growing up in the little town of Leadworth in the early 1900's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Doctor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunarsilverwolfstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarsilverwolfstar/gifts).



> Based on the "Anne of Green Gables" series by Lucy Maud Montgomery and the TV series by Kevin Sullivan.
> 
> Happy birthday, Silver! You asked for this AU, so I hope you like what I came up with!
> 
> Betaed by the lovely literaryshoes! Thank you!
> 
> The initial bunny was inspired by this piece of art by the-untempered-prism: http://the-untempered-prism.deviantart.com/art/Violets-461206670

When Sarah Jane Smith received the letter about the fire at her brother’s house, resulting in the tragic loss of him and his wife Charley, she’d been saddened, of course, though not despairingly so. They’d grown apart since John had married and moved away from the family home, affectionately known as Blue Balustrades, in Leadworth. They would be missed, but after living alone for so long, the sun would still go on rising and setting on Sarah Jane.

However, when she read the bit about being their surviving son’s only living relative, making her his new guardian, she’d been shocked. She wasn’t elderly by any means, but she was along in her years, the lines in her face more pronounced and gray just beginning to touch her dark brown hair. She was a widow with no children of her own. What did she know about raising a young man?

When she’d gone to pick up John Smith Jr. from the train station, she’d been surprised, because she’d been expecting a slightly smaller version of her brother, with his broad shoulders, bright blue eyes, and wavy dark brown hair that shone with auburn in the sunlight. Instead, the boy was skinny, gangly, all elbows and knees, and long limbs he had yet to grow into. His jaw was well defined, he definitely had his parents to thank for that, but his hair was a light brown, something of an in-between of his mother’s blonde hair and his father’s dark color. It was a little too long, as if it had been a while since his last haircut, and flopped over his right eye, but for all that, it was combed neatly. He was wearing an old brown pinstriped suit that was much too big for him, too long in the trousers and too short in the jacket sleeves. It also appeared ripped in places and badly singed, as if he might have pulled it from the wreckage of the fire. He had nothing with him but an old carpet bag that was similarly damaged and a half-burned paperback book. Her first impression of him was the boy hunched over, his elbows on his knees that were drawn together while his feet were set apart, both hands clutching the book, his eyes glued to the content it held.

She stopped when she walked on the platform and saw him sitting on the wooden bench there, just taking in the reality of him. This person was her responsibility now, depending on her for guidance. She took a deep breath, tossed the end of her late husband’s striped scarf over her shoulder, and cleared her throat.

He looked up at her with wide green eyes and, surprising her again, smiled with a flash of even, white teeth. He jolted to his feet, tripping over the carpet bag in the effort to come over to her quickly, and the worn leather handle promptly fell off. He scrambled around, fumbling to pick it up and reattach it, a nervous laugh escaping him. He stuffed his book into the bag and came back around, holding the carpet bag carefully in both hands.

“Hello, so sorry about all that, it’s a very old bag and the handle falls off if I don’t hold it just so.” He stood up straight and tall before her, already dwarfing her height though he couldn’t be too old. “I suppose you’re Ms. Sarah Jane Smith?” He stuck out one long-fingered hand, his thumb standing straight up like a soldier at attention. “I’m John, though I prefer to be called the Doctor.”

Sarah Jane paused in shaking his hand and looked at him curiously. “The Doctor?”

He grinned, proudly. “Doesn’t that sound impressive?”

“Well, yes, but… you’re not a doctor.”

“Not yet!” he said, brightly, punching the air with his index finger. “But I believe a person should have something to aspire to. Besides, ‘John Smith’ is such a horribly dull and boring name, and I’m not dull _or_ boring.” His eyes widened and he hastened to add, “Not that my father was boring! Not at all!”

She smiled lightly to put him at ease. “I think I understand what you mean. Though it’s hardly a name you should be ashamed of.”

“Oh, I’m not ashamed!” he insisted. “But I _am_ the second John Smith to come around in our family and I’d like to stand on my own merits. So, if you could possibly see your way to calling me ‘the Doctor,’ I’d like that very much.”

Sarah Jane bit her tongue to keep from laughing. Her brother’s son was certainly different, but she was coming to like him already. “Very well, John-called-the-Doctor,” she said in an amused tone, “why don’t we set off? We’ve got a good bit to drive before we reach home.”

“I’m glad, because I love driving! And you have such beautiful countryside here in Leadworth,” he said as he followed her to the horse-drawn buggy behind the train station and climbed up beside her. “So many sheep and cows and horses!”

“You’re quite enthusiastic, for a boy so recently orphaned,” Sarah Jane observed as they started down the road. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen,” he said, looking down at his hands as they gripped the handle of the carpet bag tightly. “And I suspect it’s just because it hasn’t really hit me yet. I feel like I’m on some kind of holiday, visiting a distant relative, which you are; it doesn’t really seem like I’m coming to live with you and belong to you. I suspect I won’t really know what’s happened to me until later. Isn’t that odd? How you can have something happen and still not quite realize it?” He paused for breath and glanced at her. “Am I talking too much? Oh, Mother always says I do and I _can_ stop if I put my mind to it.”

Sarah Jane’s throat grew a bit thick as she noticed he referred to Charley in the present tense. He really _wasn’t_ aware of his situation yet. “You go on and talk all you like,” she said, after swallowing past the lump. “I don’t mind.”

His face lit up with his daft smile once again. “I have a feeling we’re going to get along just fine, Ms. Smith.” He lifted his eyebrows, which were blond like his mother’s and nearly transparent. “Oh, may I call you ‘Aunt Sarah Jane?’”

“If you like,” she said. “Though I’m not used to being anyone’s aunt. I fear I have no practice with children, so we’ll both be learning as the days pass.”

“I’m not worried,” he said, confidently. “I think you’re going to be brilliant.”

She smiled, her cheeks flushing pink with pleasure at his compliment. “You may call me just plain Sarah Jane for now, if the title seems too affected.”

He nodded, then turned his attention to the passing countryside, the rolling hills of green grass and puffy white clouds drifting through the clear blue sky. “I love it here already. I heard that Leadworth is one of the prettiest stretches of land in all of Gloucestershire.”

“That’s a nice way of saying ‘the village that time forgot,’” said Sarah Jane, wryly. “One would think we’re still living in the 1890s. The General Store doesn’t even have a telephone yet.”

“I don’t mind, I like writing letters,” he said. “And it’s always been a dream of mine to live near the sea! Now it’ll only be a few towns over. It’s the first dream I’ve had that’s come true. That doesn’t often happen, does it? And, despite everything, I feel so happy, just because of that dream. Not _perfectly_ happy, you understand, I could never be _perfectly_ happy, not even when I was with my parents because…” He sighed and ruffled his hair. “What color would you call this?”

She glanced at him in surprise at the sudden change of topic and eyed his hair. “Brown? Light brown, I suppose.”

He sighed again, one of deep heart-felt misery, and let his arm dangle back down in front of him. _“Brown,”_ he repeated, drawing out the word in a low voice. “That’s why I can never be perfectly happy. It has been my life-long sorrow that I was not born ginger.”

“How could you be ginger?” she asked. “Neither of your parents were.”

“It doesn’t stop me from wishing for it. Sometimes I like to imagine myself ginger, with a sprinkling of freckles.” He wiggled his fingers near his nose, as though pretending to speckle himself with the desired complexion. “I read about a boy in a novel once who was devilishly handsome. Can you imagine what it would be like to be devilishly handsome? I can never decide if I’d like to be devilishly handsome, or dazzlingly clever, or angelically good. Can you?”

She pursed her lips for a moment, thinking about it. “Well, does being one mean you have to be the opposite of the other two?”

“See, that’s why I don’t know!” he said, pointing at her. “I know I’ll never be angelically good, it’s far too easy to be wicked without knowing it. And mother says I talk so much that…” He trailed off, his mouth gaping open as the buggy turned down a country lane lined with flowering white cherry trees, the blossoms perfuming the air as they drifted down in the breeze. “Oh, Sarah Jane,” he breathed. “What is this place called?”

“The Avenue,” she said, with a smile, knowing it was a beautiful road. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“Pretty?” he said, still looking at it in awe. “That doesn’t seem like the right word, nor beautiful. It doesn’t go far enough. But it is wonderful, just wonderful! They shouldn’t call this lovely place ‘the Avenue,’ there’s no meaning a name like that!” A slow, dreamy expression came across his face. “They should call it… Lover’s Lane. Wouldn’t that be romantic? To stroll along--” here, he spread out his hand as though spacing out a sign-- “Lover’s Lane with a sweetheart? The white blossoms falling on her parasol, and you reach out to pluck petals from her hair?” He mimicked the very gesture with his fingers and smiled. “It’s far more glorious than anything I could have imagined.”

As they came to the end of the road, Sarah Jane nodded to the large body of water they were passing on the left. “That’s Pond’s Pond.”

He blinked. “Pond’s Pond? It belongs to itself?”

“No, no, the family who lives down Orchard Slope, they’re the Ponds. And most of the lake is on their property.”

“And they couldn’t think of anything more creative than Pond’s Pond?” He shook his head and looked back at the water. “No, this… _this_ is the Lake of Shining Waters,” he said in a reverent tone before nodding decisively. “That’s it’s rightful name.”

She pulled back on the reins and stopped the horse to point over to the right. “And over there is home. Blue Balustrades.” She waited for him to come up with another, more fanciful, name for the white house with its wrap-around porch of deep blue balustrades, but he said nothing. She watched as he stared into the distance, his expression becoming somber.

“Perhaps this is the point where I should pinch myself to wake up,” he said quietly. He looked at her, his green eyes pensive and sad. “But I’m not going to wake up, am I?”

Sarah Jane pressed her lips together and wrapped an arm around the slender lad, feeling her brother’s loss more acutely in that moment than when she’d first heard about it. He looked down at the ground for the remainder of the journey.

His curiosity showed itself again when she showed him inside. She removed her hat and scarf, hanging them on the antique hall tree, while he looked around the downstairs. Blue Balustrades was furnished with the trappings of three generations, so there was quite a bit to see, and Sarah Jane had always kept the place in top condition.

She went to the staircase, saying, “Come on up, I’ll show you your room and then you can wash up for dinner. I imagine you’re hungry.”

He followed her, but said in a despondent voice, “I can’t eat. I can never eat when I’m in the depths of despair.”

He said it with such gravity, that she stopped, turned, and looked down at him where he stood on the first step. “The depths of despair?” she repeated, lifting an eyebrow.

“Well, can you eat when you’re that way?” he asked with a shrug.

“I’ve never been that way,” she said, turning back and ascending the steps once more.

“Couldn’t you imagine what it’s like to be in the depths of despair?” he persisted as he followed her.

“I suppose,” said Sarah Jane. “I’d just rather not. It sounds unpleasant.”

“Oh, it is,” he assured her. “Dreadfully unpleasant.”

“Then perhaps you should endeavor to come out of ‘the depths’ and eat something.” She pushed open a door in the upstairs hallway and allowed him to enter. “This will be your room.” It was sparsely furnished, but had everything a young man would need, a bed, washing stand, wardrobe, desk and chair, and the windows let in plenty of light. She didn’t tell him it had been his father’s room when he was a child. “Wash up and come down to dinner.”

“Yes, Sarah Jane,” he said, mildly, as he set the carpet bag on the single iron wrought bed.

He was quiet during dinner, which, admittedly, he didn’t eat much of, but he carved something remarkable out of his mashed potatoes. “What is that?” she asked, unable to help herself.

“Oh, it’s what I imagine the _Nautilus_ to be like,” he said, in a dreary voice. When she didn’t say anything to that, he glanced up once and elaborated, “It’s a submarine from Jules Verne’s _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea.”_

“Ah,” she said, and he went back to smoothing his potatoes with his fork, adding little peas along the side of the tubular shape while he muttered about it ‘needing some round things.’

Despite the relatively early hour, John-called-the-Doctor went right back upstairs to get ready for bed afterward while she did the washing up. She went to his door to check on him, but paused, her hand raised to knock. His tears were soft, muffled, but unmistakable. Sarah Jane almost withdrew, but she didn’t want the poor boy to feel abandoned, alone in the world.

She tapped lightly on the door and the sounds ceased immediately. “Good night, child,” she called, not wanting to embarrass him by going in.

“How can you possibly call it a ‘good’ night?” he asked in a watery voice. “What’s ‘good’ about it?”

She frowned, sadly. He had her there. “Good night, just the same.”

“Good night, Sarah Jane.” A brief silence. “That rhymed.”

A tiny smile quirked the side of her mouth. He hadn’t fallen into ‘the depths’ completely, it seemed. She rather liked this child, the Doctor. He had his own peculiar ways and could certainly talk the hind leg off a mule. As her shoes clacked on the wooden stairs she pondered what a change that would be around her quiet house.

* * *

The next morning, as she presented the Doctor with a bowl of oatmeal, Sarah Jane advised him that she would be placing him in school, as it would be starting up again soon. “There’s also a picnic this week that I’ll take you to,” she said. “So you can meet some children your own age beforehand.” His pale and wan face perked up a bit at this news.

“Do you think I might meet a bosom friend?” he asked.

She paused in the act of setting the kettle on to boil and looked over her shoulder at him. “What kind of friend?”

“A bosom friend,” he repeated. “A really kindred spirit. I’ve dreamed of meeting one all my life.”

Sarah Jane pointed out the kitchen window down the hill toward the lake. “Amelia Pond lives down on Orchard Slope and her parents are sponsoring the picnic. She’s about your age.”

The Doctor’s green eyes took on that dreamy quality as he intoned, “Amelia Pond. Sounds like a name from a fairy tale. Amelia of the Lake of Shining Waters.”

She shook her head, but couldn’t resist an amused smirk as she measured out their tea. “You set your heart too much on silly names, child.”

“Don’t you ever imagine things to be different from what they are?” he asked around a mouthful of oatmeal.

“No.”

“Oh, Sarah Jane,” he sighed, sympathetically. “How much you miss.”

They took the buggy down into town that day and purchased fabric from the general store. Most of the Doctor’s clothes had been destroyed in the fire, so he was wearing whatever he had left as well as what he’d salvaged of his father’s clothes. Sarah Jane wasn’t about to let him appear at a Sunday picnic looking like a beggar, so she’d purchased some good, sturdy material to make him some trousers and jackets, as well as some new bracers and some long underwear. She also allowed him the purchase of a dark gray cap, which she had to admit looked rather well on him, with his fringe poking out from underneath.

After lunch, they laid out the fabric on the table in Sarah Jane’s sewing room and she turned him this way and that, taking his measurements and making notes on a piece of paper. He watched, fascinated as she marked out the patterns, explaining that he’d never made clothes before. Then, after dinner, she showed him how to bring in the cows from the pasture. He seemed eager to learn how to do the chores she set him, and she had to admit he would be a great help to her once he was confident in the execution.

That night, when she didn’t hear any crying coming from his room, she checked in on him. He was sitting up in bed in his long white nightshirt, reading his singed book. He offered her a small smile, which she returned. It was a distinct improvement.

“How are you feeling this evening?” she asked, cautiously.

He pressed his lips together briefly and appeared to be thinking about the best way to answer. At last, he said, “Better. Not all the way, but… the pain will lessen with time. I have to believe that.”

She nodded. “That sounds quite sensible of you. But… if you ever want to talk…” She let the sentence trail off, letting him assume she would be there for him without embarrassing him. “Do you say your prayers?” she asked. She didn’t know if John and Charley had brought up their son with religion and was unsure if she should impose her own beliefs on him.

He set the book on his night table, wrinkling his nose. “Well, I’ve read about God,” he said. “In fact, I’ve read about lots of gods; fake gods and bad gods and demi-gods and would-be gods, and do you know what? Out of all that, out of that whole pantheon, whether there’s actually one God or many, if I believe in one thing, just one thing… I believe he made me not-ginger on purpose.” He crossed his arms over his chest, lifting his chin. “I haven’t cared for him since.”

Sarah Jane stared at him with wide eyes, trying to determine if he was being serious. But rather than enter a heavy theological debate with a thirteen year old boy, she said, lightly, “Do you think that God might have done it for a reason? That it might be vitally important for you _not_ to have ginger hair and you just don’t know it yet?”

The Doctor tilted his head. “I hadn’t considered that. It must be quite important, if I want it so much and yet he couldn’t allow me to be born that way.” He shrugged. “I suppose I must reevaluate my position on the subject.” He looked at her more closely. “Did you _want_ me to say my prayers?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to force you,” she said. “But I do find that it offers a measure of comfort, to be able to speak to someone who doesn’t respond in words, who keeps all secrets, and doesn’t offer immediate judgement.”

He nodded, slowly. “That does make a lot of sense.” He plucked at the quilt covering him. “And I suppose having someone to talk to might be nice…” With a decisive nod, he looked back up at her and said, “All right. I’ll do it. How does one pray?”

She moved further into the room. “Well, you kneel down beside the bed,” she said, sitting on the edge of it.

He scrambled out of the bed and knelt down, leaning his arms on the mattress and folding his hands carefully. “This was the part I never could quite understand. Why must people kneel down to pray? If I really wanted to pray, I'd go out into a great big field, all alone, and I'd look up into the sky. I'd imagine it was the dome of a great cathedral, and then I'd close my eyes and just _feel_ the prayer.” He looked up at her expectantly. “What am I to say?”

Sarah Jane thought it a bit silly to teach a boy his age the old ‘Now I lay me down to sleep’ routine, so she said, “Well, I think you’re old enough to think of your own prayer. You thank God for his blessings and humbly ask him for the things you want.”

He nodded. “I’ll do my best.” He leaned his chin against his folded hands and closed his eyes. “Dear most Gracious, Heavenly Father,” he said, reverently, though she couldn’t help but roll her eyes a bit at his theatrics. “I thank you for everything. As for the things I especially want, they're so numerous it would take a great deal of time to mention them all, so I'll just mention the two most important. Please, help me to be of some assistance to the kind Sarah Jane.” Here, she was touched by his statement, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by his follow-up request, “And please, make me handsome when I grow up. I remain yours, respectfully, John Smith.” The barest of pauses, then he added, “The Doctor.” Opening his eyes, he looked to Sarah Jane with a smile. “Did I do alright?”

“Yes, if you were addressing a business letter to a catalog store,” she said, wryly. “Get into bed.”

He did as she bid, settling down under the quilt while she blew out his oil lamp. “I should have said ‘amen’ instead of ‘yours, respectfully,’ shouldn’t I? Do you think it will make any difference?” he asked, frowning.

“I expect God will overlook it,” she said as she went to the door, but she turned back a moment later to add, cheekily, _“This_ time.”

* * *

Over the next few days, in between chores and meal times and the occasional visit from a neighbor, Sarah Jane worked on the Doctor’s new clothes. When they stopped looking like pieces and began to resemble articles of clothing, she called him into the sewing room to try things on and do a bit more pinning.

She noticed him looking at the various items with his brow slightly furrowed and it occurred to her to ask, “How do you like them?”

“I can _imagine_ I like them,” he said, obviously trying to infuse optimism and gratitude into his voice.

She frowned, but kept her hands busy with the small amount of hand sewing she needed to do while he had the jacket on. “What’s the matter with them?”

“Well…” He looked over his shoulder at her, his green eyes wistful. “It’s just that… they’re a bit dull.”

Sarah Jane looked at the tweed jacket he currently had on, then over at the dark trousers all cut from two different lengths of broadcloth, and the two other jackets spread out on his bed. They were simple, designed to go together so he could mix and match all the pieces, and would fit him well, which was more than she could say for the clothing he’d brought. She remembered what he’d said about ‘dull and boring’ the day he’d asked her to call him the Doctor, so it shouldn’t have surprised her that he had feelings about his clothes.

“I’m sorry, but I simply don’t have the time or funds to waste on your vanity,” she said. “These are good and sensible clothes, and they’ll be ready in time for the picnic on Sunday and school on Monday.”

“Oh, I am grateful,” he said, turning as she fetched her pincushion. “But I’d be even _more_ grateful if you could make me one jacket with a frock tail and a matching waistcoat!” He spread his hands out behind him, as though imagining the frockcoat, a big smile on his face.

However, she shook her head. “I just don’t have the extra material,” she said, but her expression softened when his face fell. “Well, I did have a _little_ leftover. Perhaps you can content yourself with these.” She went to her sewing table and produced a half dozen slender ribbons of fabric, each about two feet in length. “They’re for bow ties,” she explained at his confused look. “Here, turn up your collar, I’ll show you how to tie one.”

He did as she said and she steered him in front of the mirror, placing one of the lengths around the upturned collar and putting her arms around his shoulders to show him how to tie it from his perspective. As she straightened the finished bow and flipped his collar back down, she watched his face in the reflection. The corners of his mouth slowly turned up, the light coming back into his eyes. He tweaked the edges of the bow tie between his thumbs and index fingers.

“I like it!” he declared.

He turned around and embraced Sarah Jane. She blinked in surprise, returning his hug a moment later, her own smile returning. He was certainly an affectionate young lad. She patted his cheek fondly when he pulled back.

“Now, now,” she said. “Enough foolishness. You’re lucky you didn’t stick yourself with a pin. Let’s get that jacket off and try on the others.”

* * *

That Sunday, the Doctor was practically vibrating with excitement as he and Sarah Jane walked through the vine covered arch that led into the Pond’s back yard. He’d donned a dark gray bow tie that matched his cap and trousers, a shirt of demure stripes, and his new tan wool coat that fit him perfectly. Even though the clothes were plain, he’d made sure to thank his aunt numerous times and to praise her fast sewing skills. She took his hand as they made their way across the grass to a small group of people he recognized as neighbors.

“For goodness’ sake, calm down, Doctor,” she said in an undertone. “And try not to make any of your fabulous speeches. Heaven knows what our neighbors have told everyone about you already.”

“I can’t help it,” he said, clutching at the sleeve of her light green dress with his other hand. “You’d be excited, too, if you were going to try custard for the first time! And just look at all the people!” His eyes were wide as he tried to look at everything at once, the long table set with numerous nibbles, the elegant looking ladies in their frothy, lacey dresses, and there were so many children, including those that looked to be close to his own age. He could just _sense_ that his future bosom friend was among them.

They stopped before two ginger ladies and he stared at their lovely hair with his mouth slightly parted before remembering it was rude. He was trying his best, for his aunt’s sake, not to do or say anything ‘shocking.’ But for her not to mention that his potential bosom friend possessed the beautiful ginger hair he’d always longed for… Well, it seemed a horrid oversight. The elder woman took Sarah Jane’s hand with a smile.

“How good of you to come, Sarah Jane.”

“Tabetha, thank you for having us.” She put her arm around the Doctor’s slender shoulders, gesturing for him to offer his hand to their hostess. “This is my nephew, John, though I’m sure you’ve heard by now that he likes to be called ‘the Doctor.’”

Tabetha Pond smiled as she shook his hand. “I do believe a few of your neighbors have mentioned such a thing. How do you do, Doctor? We’ve heard a lot about you.” She nodded to the young ginger girl at her side who wore a light blue dress. “This is my Amelia.”

They smiled at each other as Amelia dipped a little curtsy and he sketched a small bow. Already his heart was reaching out to embrace her, chanting, _‘New friend!’_ He bounced a little on his toes, his fingers wiggling at his sides, unable to contain all of his inner excitement.

Mrs. Pond saw his fidgeting and seemed to take it for nervousness. “We must do what we can to relieve your jitters.” She gestured toward the buffet table and said to her daughter, “Perhaps the Doctor would like to try some ice cream and lemonade, Amelia?”

He looked to Sarah Jane, pleading with his eyes. She nodded and the two children hurried off toward the food table. Tabetha stood next to her friend, smiling, as they watched Amelia offer the Doctor a chilled bowl of ice cream, only to have him reject it in favor of lemon custard.

“I think he’s enchanting,” Mrs. Pond said.

“He is,” Sarah Jane agreed. “I’m still getting used to having him at the house, but I’m rather fond of him already.” She grimaced as the Doctor grabbed what looked like a fish finger then proceeded to dip it in the custard, but from his happy reaction, he seemed to enjoy the bizarre flavor combination. Sarah Jane shook her head. “Even if he may be the strangest boy I’ve ever known.”

He looked over at her then and waved, offering a custardy smile, before Amelia took his hand and pulled him off in the direction of the fields where games were being organized. Eagerly, he followed her.

“Sarah Jane has given me strict instructions not to talk anyone’s head off,” he said as they walked, his hands fluttering nervously. He did so want to make a good impression on Amelia. “I do have a bit of a habit of chattering on. Why, if I could imagine myself as a bird, a magpie would probably be the closest thing I could resemble.” He chuckled at the mental image, gratified when she giggled with him, but it faded as he saw a line of children a short distance away, tying two of their legs together for a race. His eyes went wide, excitement bubbling up within him again. “Oh!” he breathed. “Amelia… It has always been a dream of mine to enter a three legged race at a picnic!” Turning to her, he took one of her hands in both of his and solemnly asked, “Would you do me the honor of being my partner?”

Amelia looked over at the group of children skeptically. “But… there aren’t any other boy-girl teams in it.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he insisted. “You look like a sturdy girl and I’m fast! I’m sure we’d stand a good chance of winning!”

“I guess it’s all right,” she said, with only a touch of reluctance.

With a dazzling grin, he shouted, “Geronimo!” and ran to join the line, pulling Amelia awkwardly after him. His enthusiasm was incredibly contagious and she was laughing right along with him as they crouched at the end of the line to tie their legs together with a length of wide ribbon.

A girl next to them tossed her blonde hair to get it out of her face, her large brown eyes fixed on the Doctor with interest. “Hey, Amelia,” she said. “Who’s your friend?”

Amelia lifted her chin. “He’s called the Doctor.”

The blonde furrowed her brow. “Doctor who?”

“Just the Doctor,” he said, turning his head to look at the new girl.

He was struck speechless as she smiled at him, with just a hint of her pink tongue tucked into the corner of her mouth. She was so beautiful! Like the girl he’d just read about… the one with the alabaster brow. He didn’t think such a person truly existed outside of fiction. As he gaped, she winked at him, seeming only too aware of the power she held. Feeling like he’d been tricked into staring, he closed his mouth with a click and helped Amelia to her feet, wrapping an arm around her as they prepared to race, a determination to win filling his chest.

Mr. Pond set their marks and fired a gun into the air and off they ran. For a few seconds, he and Amelia were neck and neck with the blonde girl and her dark haired partner, but then the dark haired girl stumbled, tangling their legs, and down they went, allowing the Doctor and Amelia to pull ahead of all the other runners. When they broke through the ribbon at the end of the field, exhilaration burst in his heart, the happiness he felt chasing away all the dark shadows that still lingered ever since he’d left the remains of his parents’ home.

Amelia’s father handed each of them bright red ribbons, remarking how proud he was that his daughter had outrun everyone else. The Doctor chanced to look back and saw the blonde girl sitting in the middle of the field, her lavender dress striking against the green grass all around her. While her friend was working to untie their legs, she was looking at him with a smile on her face. She nodded to him, then winked again. His heart fluttered and he quickly looked away, unable to determine what she could possibly mean by the gesture. Instead, he focused on pinning Amelia’s ribbon on her chest for her and making sure it was straight. He just knew he’d always look back on this moment as the moment that solidified their new friendship.

Later, he and Amelia joined with the other older children in taking small boats out on the Lake of Shining Waters. He kept admiring his ribbon when it wasn’t his turn to row, fingering the sleek red silk. He’d never won anything before, so every time he looked down at it, the remembrance of the moment of victory made his stomach turn flips.

“I think we’re heroic winners, Amelia, don’t you?” he asked.

She shrugged good-naturedly. “I just think it’s too bad Rose had to lose on account of Clara. I’d rather we’d struggled to get to the finish together, pulling ahead at the last moment.”

“Hmm, that _would_ have been a bit more exciting.” He smiled, picturing it the way she described. She had an excellent imagination and it only made him like her more. “Is that her name? Rose?”

She nodded. “Yes. Rose Tyler, and her partner was Clara Oswald. They’re both in our class and all the boys moon over Rose. She’s the prettiest girl in school and it doesn’t help that her family’s incredibly wealthy.”

He pressed his lips together, thoughtfully. Looking across the water, he spied the gleam of golden hair that told him the object of their conversation was also enjoying some rowing. She was seated across from a boy and twirling a parasol and looking… well, rather romantic, but that wasn’t the point. He lifted one shoulder and looked back at Amelia. “Well, certainly she’s pretty, but I think this Rose is awfully bold to wink at a strange boy.”

Amelia giggled. “You’ve got the ‘strange’ part right, at least, that’s what I’ve heard some people say about you.” She grinned, telling him without words that what others thought about him didn’t bother her. “But I’ve got a feeling we’re going to get along really well.”

He grinned back as the same feeling filled his heart and he wondered if this was what fate felt like. At long last, he knew he’d found a real kindred spirit.

* * *

The following day, the Doctor fairly trotted down the road to the schoolhouse, swinging his lunchpail in one hand and holding his books and slate in the other. He knew he’d see Amelia again and he loved learning new things, so his spirits were high. As the other children took their seats, he stood in front of the teacher’s desk so she could add him to the roster. He only bounced on his toes a little.

“What is your name?” asked Miss Redfern, who was a young teacher with pale hair in a topknot on her head, she wore a plain gray dress with a watch pinned to her chest. She held a pencil poised over a sheet of names and looked at him with expectant blue eyes.

“John Smith,” he answered promptly, then added, “But I prefer to be called ‘the Doctor.’” A few of the younger children seated on the right side of the classroom giggled, but he just straightened the maroon bow tie he wore and offered the teacher a smile.

She shushed the little ones and looked back at the Doctor. Her lack of a returned smile seemed to indicate that she believed he’d prompted the laughter on purpose. “We pride ourselves on our scholastic record here,” she said, jotting his name down at the bottom of the page. His smile slipped a bit as he noted she only wrote down his given name. “I hope you will strive to meet our standards.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will, Miss Redfern!” he said, enthusiastically, wanting to make a good impression. “I’ve taught children younger than myself to read before and I found it richly rewarding, so I’m sure we’ll have a lot in common.”

The teacher ignored him and scanned the classroom for an empty seat in his age group. She indicated a sandy haired boy with blue eyes and a long nose, who sat directly across the aisle from Amelia. “You’ll share a seat with Rory Williams.”

The Doctor slanted a grin at Amelia before murmuring “Yes, Ma’am” to Miss Redfern and turning to take the empty place beside the other boy. He sat down, placing his cap underneath the bench with his lunch pail. As he straightened, he caught Rose Tyler’s eye. She sat in the desk directly behind Amelia and, for the third time in two days, she winked at him in that utterly confusing manner. What was he supposed to do with that? Non-verbal communication wasn’t exactly his strong point. He squared his shoulders and faced front immediately. It was time to be learning, not for wondering what was going on inside the pretty blonde’s head! He wouldn’t let the vixen distract him on his first day at a new school.

The teacher stood from her desk and told the class to memorize the dication from yesterday while she worked with her advanced student at the back of the classroom. Rory shared his notebook, instantly earning him charity with the Doctor. Perhaps he would be another friend!

A tiny ball of paper landed on the desk in front of the Doctor then. His brows lowered in confusion. Where had it come from? Then something hit the fringe falling over his right eye and he jerked his head. It was a second paper ball. It rolled to a stop near the first one. This time, a soft giggle accompanied the projectile and he suddenly knew what was happening. Rose was attempting to get his attention. He clenched his jaw and concentrated on copying the dictation from Rory’s notebook.

“Hey! Hey, Chinny!”

The Doctor’s world ground to a halt at that hissed statement. He looked up slowly, but didn’t see the students seated ahead of him or the blackboard. Somehow, the girl had latched onto the one thing, besides his hair, that gave the Doctor grief - his large chin. Most days, he could imagine it away and forget all about it while pretending he had a perfect hero’s jawline, so when it was brought to his attention… well, it would be no surprise to him later, upon reflection, that the edges of his vision went red.

_“Chinny!”_

She whispered it even more emphatically this time. Everything blurred in the wake of the searing hurt crashing down inside him. There was no thought, only action. The Doctor surged to his feet, his green eyes blazing. She stared up at him, her mouth open in surprise, utterly caught off-guard by his reaction.

“How _dare_ you!” he shouted, gesturing wildly. One of his flailing hands overturned her inkwell, which splashed down the desk and splattered all over the front of Rose’s light pink dress.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, half standing, but unable to get away from the dripping mess with the Doctor standing in the aisle since her desk was against the wall.

“John Smith!” cried Miss Redfern, who marched over to them at once. “What is the meaning of this?”

“It-- it was an accident!” he stuttered, unable to look away from the black ink pooling around Rose’s ankles, dripping off desk and the hem of her dress. He almost couldn’t believe it had really happened, except that he was looking right at the result.

“You _accidentally_ spilled Miss Tyler’s ink all over her?” the teacher said, disbelief evident in her tone.

To the Doctor’s shock, Rose spoke up for him. “It was my fault, Ma’am, I was teasing him.”

Miss Redfern turned her frown on Rose. “I don’t believe for a moment that someone can _accidentally_ spill ink as a result of teasing.” She grasped the back of the Doctor’s collar and marched him to the front of the room. “You will stand at the blackboard for the rest of the day.” She picked up a length of chalk and wrote in neat, even handwriting, “John Smith lies.” Slamming the chalk down in the tray, she turned her angry blue gaze on him. “You will write this one hundred times before leaving today! Perhaps _then_ you will learn to always tell me the truth!”

She stalked back to the other end of the classroom, telling Rose tersely to go clean herself up at the pump on her way. Reining in his temper, the Doctor tightened his lips and lifted his too-large chin as he turned back to the blackboard. Stiffly, he erased ‘John Smith’ and defiantly wrote, ‘The Doctor.’


	2. A Talent For Getting In Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah Jane discovers the Doctor has talent for getting into trouble and the Doctor discovers that there's nothing 'only' about being a girl, according to Amelia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purely for Silver, I included the hair dye so I could work in Matt Smith's haircut!

When the Doctor emerged from the schoolhouse after completing his punishment, he was gratified to see that Amelia had waited for him, then dismayed to see that Rose Tyler had as well. She had some boy in tow that the Doctor wasn’t familiar with, but he really didn’t care. He grabbed Amelia’s hand and began walking off in the direction of Orchard Slope, hoping Rose would take the hint and leave them alone.

“Doctor!”

No such luck. Amelia paused, so he did as well, glancing over his shoulder at the blonde who had the nerve to look repentant. Rose’s dress was utterly ruined by the ink and still damp from trying to scrub it out at the pump. He felt bad about the accident, but since he’d been punished for the offense, he couldn’t bring himself to say so.

Rose shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Look, I’m sorry for teasing you, I shouldn’t have done it. Please don’t be mad at me for keeps.” She bit her lip and fidgeted with her lunchpail, actually appearing nervous.

He knew what was really going on, though. Poor, pretty, rich girl, couldn’t stand not to have everyone wrapped around her finger. Well, he hoped that apology had gotten talking to him out of her system because he never intended to do it again. The Doctor turned his head forward, tightened his grip on Amelia’s hand, and walked away.

“I can’t believe that really just happened,” said Amelia when they were a short distance away. “I’ll bet you Jimmy, Rose’s beau, put her up to calling you that in the first place. He calls me ‘Carrots’ all the time and he gets the rest of their little group to do it, too. I’ve never heard any of them apologize before.”

“There is a world of difference between being called ‘Carrots’ and being called ‘Chinny’!” the Doctor said, indignantly. “You could dye your hair if you wanted to, not that you should and please don’t, but me, I’m stuck with this huge thing on the end of my face for all time!” He rubbed the underside of his jaw with the back of his hand, angrily. “And if she was a person of any sort of respectable character, she wouldn’t let people pressure her into making fun of others.” He shook his head. “No. The iron has entered my soul, Amelia. I will never forgive Rose Tyler.”

He sent a glare back the way they’d come. Rose stood at the end of the lane, almost swallowed by the trees, looking after him regretfully. Then the boy, Jimmy, he assumed, took her hand and forcefully turned her away, dragging her down the road.

* * *

News traveled fast in such a small town. Sarah Jane had been down at the market when someone told her what had happened between her nephew and the darling of Leadworth. She’d hurried home, but the Doctor had gotten there before her; the bolt on his door was locked.

She rapped sharply on the whitewashed wood. “John Smith, I’ve heard all about what happened, now you open this door at once!” she said firmly, betraying her agitation by using his given name.

“Please go away, Sarah Jane,” came the wavering voice from within. “I’m in the depths of despair!”

“Oh, poppycock!” she said. “Open this door!”

A moment later there was a quiet click, then running footsteps and the creak of his bedsprings. When she pushed the door open, she saw the bedspread fly up over his head. Sarah Jane rolled her eyes, coming to stand at the side of the bed.

“Are you sick?” she asked, needing to know if there was a reason for his behavior other than fear of punishment.

“Go away!” he said again, and she could tell he’d been crying from his raw voice. “Don’t look at me!”

“Are you that ashamed of your behavior?” she asked. “Goodness knows I’m ashamed for you, I don’t even know where to begin. What do you mean by spilling ink all over a girl?”

“It was an accident because she called me ‘Chinny’!” he said from under the covers.

“I don’t care what she called you, it’s no excuse for losing your temper.” She sighed and pulled at the blanket. “Could you please-- I refuse to have this conversation with your quilt!” It suddenly came away in her hands and she gasped as she saw the Doctor lying there-- with bright _purple_ hair. “Doctor,” she breathed, “what have you _done_ to yourself?”

He sniffled pitifully and sat up. His green eyes were bloodshot, making them look fever-bright. “Sarah Jane… I thought if I could have ginger hair, it would take the focus away from my big chin, but having a big chin and _purple_ hair is ten times worse. You can’t imagine how utterly wretched I am at this very moment.”

“How did you get yourself into this fix?” she asked.

“I dyed it.”

Her eyes widened. “Dyed it? For mercy’s sake, child!”

“But he positively assured me it would turn my hair a beautiful ginger, just like Amelia’s!”

“Who did?”

“The peddler we met on the road today,” he said, his voice going high and squeaky at the end of the sentence.

She sighed. “You should know better than to speak to--” But Sarah Jane broke off as the Doctor fell over on his stomach, crying miserably. She sat down next to him and patted his back, unable to summon any anger in the face of his heartache. It might seem a bit silly to her, but he was just a child and for him, it was a real tragedy. “Well, I hope this has opened your eyes to see where your vanity has led you.”

He turned his head, peeking at her through his purple fringe. “What shall I do? I’ll never be able to live this down. And can’t face her again, especially not like this!” He clamped his lips together, angrily. “Rose Tyler had no right to call me Chinny!”

Sarah Jane paused, trying her best to suppress a smile. “You really spilled ink on that girl?”

“Yes.”

“A lot of ink?”

“The whole pot, in fact.”

She shook her head. “I know I should be angry, I should be furious. What a way to behave on your first day at school! But, if you promise me nothing of the sort will happen again, I won't say another word about it.”

He blinked, then sat up, looking at her with stunned eyes. “You’re-- you’re not going to punish me?”

She smiled at him, then stood up and offered her hand to him. Still appearing a bit bewildered, he took it and allowed her to lead him downstairs. “When I was your age, I met my future husband. Tom.”

They paused at the foot of the stairs and she indicated a round black and white portrait. A young Sarah Jane stood in a wedding dress next to a very tall man with curly hair, large light colored eyes, and a big smile. “We met at school as well.” Tugging on the Doctor’s hand, she brought him into the kitchen and pulled out a chair for him. “He pulled my hair and I broke his slate over his head. He told me years later that was when he fell in love with me.”

She sat him down and went to fetch her shears and a spare bed sheet from the sewing room, when she returned, she finished her story, “So, perhaps I understand that things can happen in the heat of the moment and I can already tell that you’ve punished yourself enough.” She wrapped the sheet around his neck and tied it with a loose knot. She leaned forward to give him a knowing look and added, “I think you and I may be kindred spirits after all.”

He reached up to put his arms around her neck in a grateful hug. “Thank you, Sarah Jane,” he whispered in her ear.

“You’re welcome,” she said, then pulled back and moved behind him. “Now, let’s see what we can do to fix this.”

He huffed, but settled back in the chair, resigned, as she began to cut the dyed portions away. Eventually, as the pile grew, he said, “You know, some people in books lose their hair in a fever or sell it for money for a good deed. I don’t think I’d mind losing my hair that way. But there’s nothing romantic or comforting about cutting your hair because you dyed it an unfortunate color.”

She smiled because he couldn’t see it. “It’s just hair, Doctor. It’ll grow back. Eventually, no one will even notice your haircut.”

_“I’ll_ notice,” he said. “I’ll do penance everytime I look at myself.”

“It seems an extreme measure in order to remember not to do something like this again, but everyone has their own methods.”

There was a brief silence before he chuckled. “You’re teasing me.”

“You’re catching on.”

* * *

Spring turned into Summer, and the warmth lingered through the beginning of September. The Doctor’s almost non-existent hair had grown back a bit, giving him a short hairstyle that was a little spiky in the front. He tended to wear his cap a lot, because he believed his ears stuck out far too much, even though Amelia assured him that he didn’t look bad and some of the girls had even confided that he looked handsome with his hair short. Convinced they were merely providing a balm to his bruised vanity, he continued to cover his head when he could.

“Alright, class, pencils down,” said Miss Redfern, checking the watch pinned to her dress. “While you pass your tests forward, I would like to announce the mathematics half-term results.”

The Doctor passed his and Rory’s papers forward and instantly grabbed Amelia’s hand across the aisle. It had been apparent after the first week of school that Rose Tyler was not just a pretty face, she also possessed a quick mind and regularly had the best scores in the class. Feeling motivated to prove himself, the Doctor had studied for hours and hours for the half-term maths test. He’d been eager to hear the results, to see if he’d gotten the highest score.

“The three best standings are as follows,” continued Miss Redfern. “First, Rose Tyler.” The Doctor’s face fell, but his smile came back as the teacher said, “Second, John Smith; third, Elton Pope.” The Doctor was grinning at Amelia and missed the soft look Miss Redfern sent to Elton, who was seated at the back of the class. The blond haired boy was the advanced student who would be applying for the local university at the end of the term, so the teacher gave him lots of one-on-one study time. “I think Mr. Pope has shown excellent progress under my tutelage.” With a smile, she asked him, “Mr. Pope, could you give us the correct spelling of ‘chrysanthemum’?”

Everyone looked back at Elton as he stood next to his desk. They all knew the teacher was trying to give her pet pupil a chance to show off, but Elton’s cloudy blue eyes were uncertain as he hesitantly said, “Chrysanthemum. C-H-I-- no, R-- I-S…” He mouthed the word. “A-N-- S-M… U-M?”

Miss Redfern’s face had fallen into an expression of disappointment. “Perhaps we shall turn our attention to your spelling now that your maths are well at hand.” Unable to let the word go misspelled, she looked at Rose. “Miss Tyler? Chrysanthemum?”

Rose stood next to her desk, clasping her hands before her. There was no hesitation as she said, “Chrysanthemum. C-H-R-Y-S-A-N-T-H-A-M-U-M.”

The teacher’s frown merely deepened. “I can see we’ll need a spelling test next. John?”

The Doctor stood and fired off rapidly, “Chrysanthemum. C-H-R-Y-S-A-N-T-H- _E_ \--” the slightest of pauses, “--M-U-M.”

“Correct,” Miss Redfern muttered, looking down at her lesson plan with a scowl.

* * *

After school, Rose trotted after Amelia and the Doctor who were headed home together as usual. “Congratulations on the spelling test, Doctor,” Rose said, a hopeful note in her voice. The Doctor gave her a slight nod over his shoulder and her eyes widened. “You’re acknowledging me now! I’m shocked!”

He paused. “It is impolite to pass a person on the road without at least nodding,” he said in a cold, matter-of-fact tone. “And so I nod out of elementary good breeding, nothing more.”

Rose scowled at him. “I’m trying to be nice to you! Why don’t you get off your high horse!”

The Doctor turned to give her the full force of his glare. “Thank you for your _heartfelt_ congratulations, Miss Tyler,” he said sarcastically. “But allow me to inform you that next time, I shall be first in _every_ subject!” Tugging on Amelia’s hand, he stalked down the road, leaving Rose in the dust.

Amelia shook her head. “You’ve got more nerve than a fox in a hen house. What if she really was trying to congratulate you?”

“And what if she was trying to rub it in that she got first in maths?” he countered. “I don't see any need to be civil to someone who chooses to associate with the likes of Jimmy Stone.” Rose’s beau still made a point of calling the Doctor ‘Chinny’ at least once a day. The only good part about it was that the Doctor was getting better at ignoring him, since it happened so often.

“You’re just jealous,” she said, rolling her eyes.

He jerked to a stop, his mouth hanging open, unable to believe that his bosom friend had just called him that. “I am not!” he cried. “You take that back, Pond!”

“Well, _he’s_ jealous of _you,”_ said Amelia. “Rose told Clara Oswald that you're the smartest boy in school, right in front of Jimmy. Practically implied that all the other boys were simpletons. And she said that being smart was better than getting by on your looks.”

“Trust her to insult me like that,” he said, sadly, his shoulders slumping.

“But she wasn’t!”

“Yes, she was!” he insisted. “It _isn’t_ better!”

They walked down the road a ways in silence, but Amelia was pursing her lips the way she did when she disagreed with him and didn’t want to continue the argument. She said it was because he was too stubborn to see her side of it and wouldn’t waste her breath.

The Doctor sighed, he always hated it when they argued, so he changed the subject. “Well… at least I don’t have to cheat on exams like Jimmy.”

“Jimmy doesn’t _have_ to cheat,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “He just does it because he’s a Stone and can get away with it.”

* * *

At the end of the term, Rose and the Doctor tied for first place with their final exam. Class was dismissed early so that everyone might adjourn to the Oswald farm for a celebration. The happy event had a little sadness with it, as Miss Redfern was leaving the Leadworth school. Apparently, she and Elton had been conducting an illicit affair and the board of trustees found out. The Doctor felt a little sorry for the woman, even if she always had refused to call him anything other than Mr. Smith. Still, a new position for her in London as a private tutor was nothing to feel too badly about.

The entire class stood near the Oswald’s back fence to wave goodbye as Miss Redfern set off in a buggy. Jimmy climbed up on the picket fence and walked along the top rail as he waved farewell. When he reached the end, he sent a superior look in the Doctor’s direction before showily jumping down into the middle of his circle of friends.

The Doctor crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes. “I suppose some people consider it an accomplishment, to walk a _little_ picket fence, Amelia,” directing his statement to his friend at his side, but his gaze stayed on his nemesis. “I heard of a girl in Scotland who could walk the ridgepole of a roof.”

Jimmy scoffed. “I don’t believe it, you’re making it up.”

“I am not!” the Doctor protested.

“Day one, ‘the Doctor lies,’” smirked Jimmy, nastily. “Anyway, you sure couldn’t do it.”

He cocked his head to the side, hackles already raised. “Oh, couldn’t I?”

“I dare you!” The lack of adult supervision made him bold and Jimmy stepped up until he was nose to nose with the Doctor, his hands on his hips. “I dare you to walk the ridgepole of Clara’s kitchen roof!”

The Doctor gave a cursory glance to the building next to the picket fence. It was square, so the roof wasn’t too long, and only one story up. It seemed easy enough. “Fine!”

Rose, who’d moved forward to stand next to Jimmy, darted in front of the Doctor when he turned. “Doctor, wait!” she said, sounding anxious. “It’s a bit risky, don’t you think?”

The Doctor set his jaw, eyes blazing with green fire, then he merely walked around her without saying a word, going to the side of the small building with his head held high. Everyone followed him, eager to see if he’d really go through with it.

Someone, presumably Clara’s father, had left a ladder in the grass in the shade of the kitchen. The Doctor grasped it in both hands and heaved it up, settling it securely in the soft dirt. He tried to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest.

Amelia grasped his sleeve, speaking to him in a low voice that was nonetheless quite alarmed, “Don’t do it, Doctor! Never mind that arse Jimmy, it’s not a fair dare!”

He shook his head, determined, and dared not look in her eyes for fear of losing his nerve. “Forgive me, Amelia, but I must walk that ridgepole… or perish!”

Rung by rung, he climbed the ladder, the murmurs of his classmates soon drowned out by the buzzing in his ears. The anticipation of reaching the top was terrible, so he climbed as quickly as he could, scrambled up over the slatted roof, and clutched the sides of the warm chimney in both hands. Carefully, he turned around, placing both of his feet on the ridgepole, his toes turned out in opposite directions.

Suddenly, the slight breeze seemed like a gale, pulling at his jacket, and the ground seemed so much further away. Doubt began to weave itself through the alarm churning in his stomach and he automatically looked down to his friend for reassurance. Amelia stood with her hands covering her mouth, as though she was afraid of distracting him should she shout in distress. Next to her stood Rose, who visibly gulped. Seeing her fearful brown gaze, the steel returned to his spine and he jerked his face forward. Spreading his arms, he took his first step. His knees quivered on the second. His torso wobbled on the third. On the fourth step, almost halfway across, he tilted too far, his body arced awkwardly, his arms pinwheeled desperately, and he tumbled inexorably over the side of the roof. The whole class gasped in fright and then exclaimed at the _thud_ that followed a second later.

Everyone ran around to the other side to find the Doctor had landed in a rhododendron bush, but it didn’t appear to have cushioned his fall, as his eyes were shut. Amelia knelt at his side, grabbing his hand and patting his face anxiously. “Doctor! Oh, Doctor, are you killed? Just tell me one word and let me know if you’re killed!”

Head spinning, the Doctor couldn’t find his voice to tell her that her statement was ridiculous. He had to blink several times before Amelia’s red hair swam into his view. “I’m not killed, Pond,” he mumbled. “But I may have been rendered unconscious.”

“Oh, he’s fine,” came a voice from the back of the group. “He probably landed on his chin.” Ah. That cleared up who it was.

“Shut it, Jimmy!” Another voice, quite close to the side that Amelia was not next to. But that couldn’t be Rose, she wouldn’t tell Jimmy to shut it… would she? At the moment, he wasn’t very sure of anything, except for his bruised backside and the fiery pain in his left ankle, which only got worse as hands grabbed his arms and helped him to his feet.

His head righted itself once he straightened up and the dizzy spell passed for the most part. He limped forward a few steps, away from the kitchen. He saw that it was indeed Rose who’d helped him up, along with Amelia, and he leaned more heavily on his friend in order to disengage his arm from Rose’s possession.

“Thank you, Miss Tyler,” he said, stiltedly, as Amelia helped him limp toward the gate. Shooting pains went up his leg with every halting step.

Rose grabbed his elbow when he faltered, determined to help him. “Doctor, we can borrow the Oswalds’ buggy and I’ll help you home.”

“I don’t need help,” he insisted, though he kept his arm firmly on Amelia’s shoulders. “I’m quite capable of managing on my own.”

“I’m going your way,” Rose continued, grasping his hand. “Please, let me help. There’s no need to be so stubborn.”

He shook off her hand, disconcerted by how well it fit in his, it made him snap at her. “Thank you, Miss Tyler, but I shall be going in the _opposite_ direction!” He limped away from her, depending on Amelia for balance with every other step.

“You should have let her help you,” his friend gently chided him. “You’re in no condition to walk home, especially the long way round.”

“I wouldn’t dream of giving Rose Tyler the satisfaction of helping me,” he sniffed. She probably only wanted to assuage her guilt and helping him when he was at a disadvantage was just too easy. He nodded to the thick line of trees they were passing on the right. “Let’s cut through here, it’s much shorter.”

Amelia’s hazel-green eyes went wide. “But you told me this forest was haunted!”

He winced, remembering his own words. “I… don’t think it’s haunted in daylight.” He tried not to make it sound like a question.

“That doesn’t matter, it’s always dark in this forest.”

“Don’t be afraid, Pond.”

He was proud of himself for sounding so firm, but the dark that swallowed them soon after passing the treeline made them both fall silent. Their eyes went big and round as they tried in vain to see things more clearly, to ensure that no ghosts snuck up on them. Every little sound seemed amplified, the crunch of dead leaves beneath their feet, the flutter of wings, the pitter-pat of some small animal through the brush. Normal forest sounds, but here, it seemed somehow sinister, as if malicious spirits lurked just out of view.

“Wh-what sort of ghosts do you suppose live here?” Amelia whispered.

“I’m not sure there really are any,” he said. “I only said it because it seemed so romantic at the time to live near a haunted forest. It reminded me of a story I read, where a lady in white would walk through the woods, wringing her hands and wailing…”

“Oh, Doctor, don’t!” pleaded Amelia in a squeaky voice, then she gasped sharply as he stumbled. She helped him back up, breathing, “What is it? Did you see a ghost?”

He shook his head. “My foot caught on something.” But he wasn’t entirely sure if it was a wayward tree root or a _ghost_ that had grabbed him. For his friend’s sake, he kept his musings to himself.

Their footsteps had slowed even further than the Doctor’s injury had necessitated, as neither one of them wanted to disturb anything with loud walking or talking… or breathing. Their arms were clasped around one another, their opposite hands holding tight. They paused as they saw what looked like an abandoned shed in the distance, thick with moss and the wood dark from moisture. Only… what if it wasn’t so abandoned?

“Do you think there may be ghosts living in there?” she whispered, giving voice to the Doctor’s own thoughts. “I’m so scared!”

“So am I,” he confessed, but the feeling was mixed with excitement. He felt like a character out of one of the books he loved so much. _“Deliciously_ scared!”

They crept forward, as silently as possible when one of them was limping, their eyes trained on the shed in case any spirits decided to fly out at them. They were so focused on what lay ahead of them, they weren’t paying attention to where they put their feet, so when they walked over some rotted wooden beams and the Doctor was suddenly wrenched out of Amelia’s grasp, she slammed her eyes shut and screamed in fright.

From below, where he clung desperately to the edge of an old well, he yelled over her cries, “Stop that, Pond, and help me out!”

She sucked in a breath, almost choking on her next scream, and looked down to reassure herself that he hadn’t really vanished or been snatched away by some poltergeist. “Oh!”

Amelia crouched next to him and grabbed him by the wrists, hauling him up. From the knees down, he was wet with stagnant water, but he couldn’t stand up. There was pain in both his legs now and he grimaced as he scooted away from the well on his bum.

“Why did we ever come in here?” she asked, wretchedly. She knelt down beside him as he leaned back against a large tree. “Are you alright?”

He shook his head, his brow furrowed against the pain. “I twisted my other ankle.”

She looked down at his legs, though there was no outward sign of the injury. “What are we going to do?”

He set his jaw, knowing he had to be strong for Amelia’s sake. He patted her hand. “You mustn't be afraid, Pond. I'll be alright here. Run home, find your father, and ask if he'll come back and get me.”

She shook her head. “No. If you get carried off by ghosts, I'll never forgive myself!”

“Well, you can’t carry me home by yourself,” he said, trying to get her to see reason. “You’re only a girl!”

At that, the fear in her eyes vanished, to be replaced by steely resolve. “Is that so?” she said, all wavering in her voice gone. She got to her feet and put her hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know, _Doctor_ , that there is nothing ‘only’ about being a girl!”

* * *

As the sun was setting, Sarah Jane was bringing in the cows from pasture and wondering where her nephew could have gotten to, but being that it was the last day of school, she assumed he’d gone to Amelia’s house. She stopped when something glinted at her in the distance. Squinting, she saw it again… a coppery flash, slowly moving closer. As it crested the hill, she saw that it was Amelia Pond’s hair, reflecting in the golden sunset, but why was the child walking so slowly, all bent over?

Sarah Jane walked out to meet her, then froze as she saw the reason for her odd posture. The Doctor was perched on her back, his arms around her neck, his legs sticking out awkwardly to either side of her. His head popped up when he saw her and he gave a clumsy wave, before scrambling to clutch Amelia again before he slipped off of her.

“What in the world happened?” Sarah Jane asked as she trotted over to them, but then she held up a hand to forestall the explanation. “Wait, don’t tell me, let’s get you both inside the house first. I have a feeling I should be seated for this.” Sarah Jane sighed when the Doctor exchanged a guilty look with Amelia over her shoulder. This didn’t bode well.

She helped the Doctor down, but saw at once the pain on his face when his feet touched the ground. Wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders, he kept the other around Amelia’s, and the two women hoisted him up between them.

Once they were seated in the kitchen, the Doctor’s wet shoes left outside on the stoop, a cup of tea in front of each of them, Sarah Jane said, “Alright. Now tell me what mischief you’ve gotten yourself into now.”

He winced as he leaned down to remove his wet socks. “It’s nothing too dire, Sarah Jane,” he said in an attempt to reassure his aunt. “I fell of the ridgepole at Clara Oswald’s and then twisted my other ankle falling into an old well.”

Sarah Jane put her head in her hand, her elbow leaning on the table. “I should have known you couldn’t start the summer quietly.”

“Well, look on the bright side!” he said, smiling. “I could have broken my neck! What would you have done if someone dared you to walk the ridgepole of a roof?”

She gave him a firm look. “I would have kept my feet on solid ground and let them dare away!”

“Please don’t be too hard on him, Ms. Smith,” said Amelia. “He’s done nothing but been hard on himself all the way home, which is fairly impressive, considering the good news.” She lifted her eyebrows at the Doctor and he glanced down at his tea, his cheeks flushing.

“What good news?” Sarah Jane asked, looking between the two friends.

When the Doctor didn’t speak up, Amelia said, “He took first place in the term results!”

“Tied for first,” he clarified in a low voice, but he looked up at his aunt with a small smile.

Sarah Jane looked astonished. “Tied for first place? My Doctor?” she asked, soft pride in her tone. A moment later, she sniffed and took up her teacup. “Well, then at least one thing is certain. You most definitely did not injure your tongue.”

The two friends looked at each other and snickered.

Sarah Jane shook her head. “Finish your tea, then I’ll call for the doctor to come and take a look at your legs.”

“But _I’m_ the Doctor.”

“Don’t get smart.”

“But I got first place--”

_“John.”_

“Yes, ma’am.”

Amelia tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her giggle behind her teacup. Both Smiths gave her a _Look_ and suddenly, she could see the family resemblance.

* * *

The Doctor’s legs recovered in just under a week, which was when another disaster struck. At least, disaster as far as he was concerned, Sarah Jane thought he was merely indulging in theatrics once again. Amelia and her family were leaving to go to London for the remainder of the Summer holiday, in order to visit her Aunt Sharon, her father’s wealthy widowed sister. The day before she had to go, Amelia met the Doctor in the small copse of trees between their fields, in the shade of a particular oak whose roots had grown in such a shape as to perfectly cradle two friends as they chatted.

“I cannot help but be sad, Amelia,” he said, clasping her hand. “I pictured grand adventures for us over this Summer, and now I shall be all alone!”

“It’s isn’t as bad as all that. You can always take the dorry across the lake and visit Rory.” She smiled, poking him in the side, saying, “Rory’s dorry,” reminding him of their joke about their mutual friend’s little row boat.

“Rory is nice, but he isn’t my bosom friend,” he complained. “And what if you never come back?”

She shoved his shoulder. “Don’t be silly, I’ll come back.”

“Not if your aunt decides to sponsor you in order to send you away to some grand private school for ladies,” he said, waving his hands in the air as he crafted an imaginary future for Amelia. “And you might catch the eye of some handsome heir to a large fortune! What if you fall madly in love? You’ll never come back then! Never ever spare another thought for your poor former friend back in Leadworth.” He sighed most pitifully then turned his big, sad eyes upon her. “Amelia, do you promise never to forget me, no matter what other friends may come into your life?”

She smiled gently. “I could never love anyone as much as I love you, Doctor.”

He froze, his eyes going wide. “Do you really love me?”

“Of course I do. You’re my best friend!”

“I’ve never had a friend who loved me before,” he said, wonderingly. He grabbed both her hands, folding them between his. “Will you swear to always be my dearest bosom friend? No matter what?”

She looked uncertain. “But isn’t it wicked to swear? I don’t want us to get into trouble.”

He shook his head. “Not if you’re swearing a vow.” He straightened, looking deep into Amelia’s hazel-green eyes as he reverently intoned in a soft voice, “I solemnly swear to remain faithful to my bosom friend, Amelia Pond, for as long as the sun and moon shall endure. Now you say it.”

She took a deep breath, repeating with as much gravity as she could muster, “I solemnly swear to remain faithful to my bosom friend, John ‘The Doctor’ Smith, for as long as the sun and the moon--” She looked to him for help.

He nodded encouragingly. “--shall endure.”

“Shall endure.”

Letting go of each other’s hands, they locked their right pinkie fingers together and kissed their fists, then spat to the left, sealing the vow. They wiped their mouths on their sleeves and shared a tight hug. Amelia’s bright hair flowed over her shoulder in the slight breeze, caressing the Doctor’s nose and cheek. When they pulled back, he touched a strand of it.

“Amelia,” he began, with such longing emotion in his tone, that his friend’s eyebrows lifted. “Wilt thou give me a lock of thy fiery red tresses?”

“But I don’t have any red dresses,” she said, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“Your hair,” he clarified, nodding at it.

She blinked, still appearing a bit confused, but nodded. “Oh, alright.”

Amelia pulled her small sewing scissors out of the pocket of her apron and handed them to the Doctor. He gently took hold of a small piece of her hair and cut off a length of a few inches, enough to easily grasp in his hand until he could secure it with a ribbon back at Blue Balustrades. He handed the scissors back and smiled at his prize. A tiny piece of his beloved friend, to keep forever. Impulsively, he hugged Amelia again, throwing his gangly arms around her, delighting in her laugh as she embraced him back.

“Fare thee well, my dear friend, my heart will ever be faithful to thee,” he said. “Safe journey, safe return.” He held her at arm’s length and leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers with his eyes shut tight in concentration, as though he could impart some knowledge that way. “‘I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood and I-- I took the one less traveled by.’” Lifting his head, he looked at her and touched her cheek fondly. “‘And that has made all the difference.’”


	3. Festivities and a Frock Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Leadworth School welcomes a new teacher and the Doctor is invited to a Christmas Ball with the Ponds.

Amelia returned to Leadworth the week before the school term began, just as she said she would before she’d gone and in the two letters she’d sent to the Doctor in the interim. He’d been dazzled by her descriptions of London; so many buildings and carriages! Her aunt’s great estate sounded positively daunting, it made him think of Rochester’s mansion in _Jane Eyre_ with a shiver of delight.

When they entered the new school year a few days later, a new teacher awaited them. The man appeared to be even older than Sarah Jane, with white hair and a matching white beard, but his blue eyes were kindly, as was his sweet smile. He wrote his name with concise handwriting on the black board, _Mr. Wilfred Mott._

“Good morning, class,” he said in a voice roughened by age, but no less enthusiastic. “Please sit down. I’m your new teacher, Mr. Mott.” He gestured to the blackboard, in case anyone hadn’t seen his name written, then chuckled a bit as he realized they’d probably all guessed by now. “I want to begin by saying that I find it very unfair that the teacher is expected to ask all the questions and I hope that you’ll be enthusiastic enough about my classes that you’ll feel inspired to ask your own questions of me. I shall do my best to live up to the standards you were used to under Miss Redfern, but I caution you, I am unfailingly strict about punctuality and attention in class. However, I also believe that the best sort of teacher serves as a guide to his students, and if you are willing to put yourself under my guidance, then I promise you, I will help you to form strong ideals; ideals that will be the foundation for your future lives.” He folded his hands in front of him and leaned back, taking in the whole of the classroom with a smile. “I want to be able to look back on this class as the brightest, the most imaginative, the most dedicated in all of Essex.”

The Doctor sat up straight and tall, a slow smile creeping over his face as he listened to the man speak. Never had he felt so inspired by a teacher! Mr. Mott even liked the nickname ‘Doctor,’ when he mentioned it to the teacher later. The Doctor found he was greatly looking forward to the coming academic year and was not disappointed as days turned into weeks. Mr. Mott was a much more active teacher than his predecessor, who’d stayed within the classroom, a fact that Mr. Mott often joked about, since he knew he was older than Miss Redfern by a great deal. Mr. Mott often took the class out into the woods to discuss nature and the various forms of fauna they saw. He was apparently a skilled astronomer as well, and the Doctor was invited, along with the other older students, to a special nighttime class where their teacher taught them all about the stars.

The Doctor stared up at the velvet tapestry of the sky, and the twinkling diamonds seemed all the closer, now that he knew some of their names. Would man someday travel to those far-off points of light? Oh, he hoped so. He thought of the winged horse, Pegasus, and looked to its corresponding constellation. What a good idea for a story!

Mr. Mott was even kind when he scolded. When he caught the Doctor reading during geometry class (a subject he normally enjoyed, but he’d just been so eager to find out how the next chapter ended), the teacher quietly took the book away and asked him to stay after class for a few words, rather than call him out in front of everyone. He still even called him ‘Doctor.’

The Doctor waited until everyone else had filed out before approaching the teacher’s desk. Mr. Mott turned the book over in his hands and looked at the Doctor from his seat. “I’m disappointed in you, Doctor,” he said, the sentiment evident in his voice as well. “Reading novels during geometry class is a misuse of your time. Moreover, it’s a deception.”

“Please forgive me, Mr. Mott,” he entreated. “I promise, I won’t look at _Ben Hur_ for a whole week as penance, not even to see how the chariot race turns out!” It cost him to issue such an edict, but he wanted his teacher to know how deeply he regretted his actions. He hated the thought of Mr. Mott losing faith in him for such a silly mistake.

Mr. Mott smiled and handed the book back. “I’m giving this back to you because I know I can trust you not to let it happen again.”

He nodded contritely, making a conscious effort not to bend the cover of the book with his nervous fidgeting.

“Oh, Doctor,” Mr. Mott sighed. “You know I want to encourage you to read literature, to develop that imagination of yours. It’s a precious gift.” He pointed at the young man. “But not during geometry class. Understand?”

He nodded again, this time with a smile. “I knew you were sympathetic to the human plight the moment we met, Mr. Mott. I confess, I was afraid that Miss Redfern might have told you about me beforehand.”

“Well, I did have a letter, given to me by the trustees, that Miss Redfern left behind for her replacement,” Mr. Mott said as he stood from the desk and went to the coat stand. “But I don’t let other people’s opinions color my own.”

The Doctor gathered his own things from underneath his desk, settling his cap on his head. “I’m grateful for that. I promise you, the incident on my first day was purely an accident. It is a terrible injustice to be falsely accused.”

“Sometimes people don’t want to hear the truth, Doctor,” said Mr. Mott, walking his student out of the school house and locking the door behind them. “You see, the truth can be frightening, so people put up walls to hide away from it. What we must bear in mind is that all these occasional trials which pop up in our lives serve a very useful purpose.” He leaned closer and whispered, as though imparting a great secret, “They build character.” He chuckled with the Doctor as they walked down the road together. “They make you stronger, so long as you hold onto the lessons you learn from your mistakes. Remember, we can always start everything fresh tomorrow.”

“That is a tremendous consolation, Mr. Mott,” said the Doctor, looking off into the distance as the teacher’s advice swirled in his head. He spread out his hands, his lunchpail hanging off of one thumb, as though spacing out a written motto. “Tomorrow is always fresh… with no mistakes in it.”

“Well, with no mistakes in it _yet,”_ Mr. Mott cautioned, lifting his bushy white eyebrows. “As far as the truth goes, I’d advise you not to lose heart. Your real friends will always see you for who you really are. In the end, the truth will set you free.”

The Doctor waved a hand through the air again, repeating the beautiful phrase as he added it to his mental catalogue, “The truth will set you free.”

* * *

As the days got progressively colder, Mr. Mott began offering a special class after school for the older students who were going to study for the entrance exam to the University of London at the end of the term. The Doctor was excited to take part, having been personally invited by the teacher, but disappointed to learn that Amelia would not be joining him. Her parents had said she was better off learning how to run a household than keeping her nose in a book.

Knowing that Amelia was quite capable of anything she set her mind to, she’d proven that long ago, he squeezed her hand and said, “I’m so sorry, Pond. I feel as though you’ve tasted the bitterness of death.”

She rolled her eyes at his theatrics and told him she’d see him tomorrow. He didn’t fail to notice that Rory was waiting to walk her home. A crooked smile crept across his face as he turned back toward the blackboard, but it vanished as he caught Rose Tyler watching him. She turned around quickly enough, but his heart still thumped treacherously at that flash of her golden-brown eyes.

He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the Latin verbs Mr. Mott was writing down, ignoring the organ beneath his ribs. It meant nothing.

When December came, the Ponds invited the Doctor to go with them to the seaside for the Christmas Ball. He was hard-pressed to remember their stubbornness over not allowing Amelia to join the extra class at the prospect of attending such a grand event. He was even asked to spend the night at their home, since they would be getting back so late. To stay as an honored guest in a spare room! What a Christmas delight! But nothing could have prepared him for the surprise that awaited him in his room two days before the Ball.

A long, flat white box, tied around with brown string, sat on the end of his bed when he returned home from school that day. Sitting down, he pulled it into his lap and wondered briefly if he was meant to open it. His fingers wiggled on either side of the box, making a soft drumming noise. Well, that was silly, if he wasn’t meant to open it, it wouldn’t be there! Mind made up, he pulled at the string and tore the lid off.

Nestled on a bed of cream colored tissue, was an elegant aubergine frock coat with a black lamb’s wool collar, and laid inside that was a matching waistcoat the color of lilac heather. His mouth dropped open. The very thing he’d once asked Sarah Jane for, and here it was, as if gifted by fairies.

He wrestled briefly with his tweed jacket and threw it off, letting it land haphazardly across his pillow. Then, carefully, he pulled on the waistcoat and buttoned up the little floral buttons, cinching the buckle at the back until it fit his slim torso correctly. He stuck his thumbs into the small front pockets, which were the perfect size. Then he lifted the coat from its bed of rustling paper. The lining was a soft, silky plum and the cuffs ended right where they should. He marveled at the fit, but then assumed that Sarah Jane must have modeled it on the clothing she’d made for him previously. She was amazingly clever with sewing, among her many talents, she’d even left him some room in the shoulders, which spoke of her foresight, because he knew he was still growing.

With a final look in his mirror, he could bear it no longer and ran downstairs, his boots making an awful clunking racket on the steps as he hurried. He stopped, a bit breathless, before the kitchen door.

Sarah Jane turned from the sink and smiled when she saw him. “Well, come here, let me have a look at you.”

He entered the kitchen and did a little pirouette, a silly grin on his face. He could tell by her expression that she was pleased by how it looked on him.

“I know I should have waited until Christmas, but I thought you might want to wear them to the Ball.” She looked up at him, lifting her eyebrows slightly. “Do you like them?”

“Like them?” he repeated, incredulously. “They’re more exquisite than anything I could have ever imagined.”

Her cheeks turned pink at that, but her smile never wavered. She came forward, putting her hands on his shoulders, and leaned in to kiss his cheek fondly. “There now, enough foolishness, go change, you don’t want anything to happen to it beforehand and, knowing you, it’s only too possible.”

He swooped in to embrace her instead, ducking his head down to rest his chin on her shoulder. “Thank you, Sarah Jane. From the bottom of my heart. You are a woman of impeccable taste.”

* * *

The ballroom was swathed with gold and cream curtains that, in the light from the chandeliers, appeared luminously bright. Holly and greenery hung everywhere, attached to candelabrum and curtain rods with red silk ribbon. An enormous Christmas tree sat next to the small orchestra that played to the delight of the many dancers. The proud evergreen’s branches stretched up near the ceiling, strung with more ribbon, gold stars, and glass baubles that shone like crystal. Amelia and the Doctor gaped at it all for a moment, letting themselves get caught up in the swirl of ladies and gentlemen in the finery, before remembering their manners. They straightened up and closed their mouths, determined to act more like adults, but they still clasped each other’s hands excitedly.

“I’m positively certain this will spoil everyday life forever,” the Doctor whispered and Amelia giggled.

They stood at the edges of the dance floor for a few minutes, just watching the display of dancers, turning like butterflies over a field of flowers in Spring. It was a scene right out of a fairy tale, and the Doctor felt like Cinderella in his fine new clothes. But male. Definitely male. In fact, Amelia was definitely more like Cinderella in her lovely dress of light blue satin, the long sleeves gently puffed, even if her shoes were not made of glass.

“In three years, I’m going to wear my hair like Tish Jones,” Amelia said, nodding to the older girl who was in the arms of one of her suitors. According to Tish’s younger sister, Martha, who was in their class, Tish knew everything about courting from her string of beaus. The young woman’s black hair was piled on top of her head like a lady, making her look older than she really was. Amelia’s ginger hair was merely held back at the sides with a bow, allowing the rest to fall over her shoulders. “She’s only seventeen and I think she looks ridiculous,” she murmured behind her hand. _“I’m_ going to wait until I’m eighteen.”

The dancers came to a stop as the song ended and everyone clapped appreciatively. As some guests left the dance floor and others took their places for the next set, the crowd briefly parted and the Doctor spied Rose Tyler standing near the refreshment table, a glass of punch in her hand. She was chatting with two girls, and so hadn’t seen him and Amelia, or didn’t appear to.

He found he couldn’t take his eyes away. She was beautifully clad in a Christmas-y dress with a satin skirt in kelly green and a velvet bodice in a slightly darker green, her cuffs, hem, and collar trimmed with white lace. Her blonde hair was curled, bouncing around her face unbound as she moved her head. Gold streaks shot through it as it caught the candlelight, giving her a sort of shimmer.

Amelia’s elbow in his side made him jump and he frowned at her, rubbing the spot, though it didn’t really hurt.

“My, my,” she said in a smug voice. “Doesn’t Rose look lovely tonight?”

“Oh, is Rose here?” he asked, inwardly irritated that he’d stared for so long his friend had seen it. “I hadn’t noticed her.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Amelia, only too disbelieving, as she saw Rose glance their way. “It’s too bad you’ve been so nasty to her. You might have been able to secure a dance.”

He scoffed. “I do _not_ want to dance with Rose Tyler. And even if I did,” he added, waving a finger in Amelia’s face, “she would most certainly accept. She’s been nothing but eager to please since realizing her mistake in offending me. She might even stand on her head if I asked her to!”

Amelia gave a skeptical look at his boast. “Is that right?” She looked back at the other girl, just as Rose turned her head in their direction. “Oh, she looked right at you again!” She nudged his shoulder playfully and wiggled her eyebrows. “I bet you couldn’t get her dance, Doctor.”

He furrowed his brow at the cheeky ginger, then adopted a daring smirk. “Very well, Pond. If you insist!” He straightened his dark gray bow tie that he’d carefully selected to match his trousers and muttered, “Geronimo!” as he oh-so-casually walked in Rose’s direction. Feeling confident in his elegant finery, he stopped a few feet away from her, his hands loosely clasped on his jacket lapels, and cleared his throat. “Good evening, Miss Tyler.”

But Rose’s attention never wavered from the two girls she was chatting with. “Yes, I’d love to join you for the tobogganing party tomorrow, will you tell your sister for me?” she was saying.

His easy smile faded and he let his hands fall limply to his sides. Even when Rose’s company departed and she was merely standing there, watching the other dancers, she didn’t look his way or acknowledge him at all. Just what was she playing at? He foundered for a moment, wondering what he should do next, when Amelia joined him, touching his arm with a question on her face.

Rose chose that moment to turn towards them, but the smile on her face excluded the Doctor completely as she stepped forward and took Amelia’s hand. “Amelia, don’t you look wonderful tonight! Merry Christmas,” she said, warmly.

Utterly perplexed, Amelia said, “Merry Christmas to you, too, Rose.”

The blonde moved away then, not sparing the Doctor so much as a backward glance. He fumed, clenching his hands into fists. The little minx was ignoring him on purpose, he was sure of it! Angrily turning to his friend, he demanded stiltedly, “How could you wish - _that person!_ \- a Merry Christmas?”

Amelia drew her mouth into a line, but her sad expression said that she knew she wasn’t the true mark of his upset. “I take it ‘that person’ didn’t agree to dance with you after all.”

He looked down at the shining ballroom floor, dejected. He knew he shouldn’t take his anger out on Amelia, just because he’d failed the dare and been completely wrong about Rose. He looked up as his friend grabbed his hand and dipped a little curtsy.

“Well, will you do _me_ the honor?” she asked, grinning.

A grateful smile lit his face and he squeeze her hand. Leave it to Amelia to cheer him right up. “Thank you. I believe I will!” he said, giving her a bow, before grabbing her other hand and swinging them right into the middle of all the dancers.

They danced and danced, spinning around happily, laughing when they stepped on each other’s toes. All thoughts of Rose Tyler fled his mind, even when she danced by in Jimmy’s arms, he couldn’t bring himself to care… much. He was too happy to be spending such a delightful holiday evening in the company of his bosom friend.

When they returned to the Pond’s home, the two were much too excited to sleep despite the late hour, and so Amelia’s parents generously allowed them use of their small gramophone. They danced about in their long night shirts before the fire in the family room, trying in vain to smother their giggles as they made up new steps, finally allowing their more childish natures free reign, out of sight of anyone else.

“I think it was Rose,” said Amelia as they waltzed around the room, referring to the gift that the Doctor had found in the pocket of his thick wool cloak when they were leaving the ball.

He’d been surprised to find the small white box, as there had been nothing in the cloak’s pockets when he’d given it to a maid in the foyer. As it was, he’d only found it because it had rattled. Inside lay a double Albert waistcoat chain of fine gold, and hanging from the center was an ivory medallion in the shape of a white rose. Amelia had been just as surprised when he’d shown her, assuming it was from her, but she quickly assured him that her pocket money wouldn’t have allowed such an extravagant gift. He’d immediately hung it from his waistcoat, turning this way and that to let the rose pendant swing. It looked as though it had been made for the outfit, it suited so well, but he knew Sarah Jane wouldn’t have been able to buy him such a thing either.

“You only think that because of the shape of the medallion,” he said.

“Well, her family’s well off enough to afford it, too.”

He couldn’t deny that was an excellent point, but in light of Rose’s actions at the Ball, or lack thereof, he shook his head. “Such a romantic gift would be utterly beyond her imagination.”

Amelia giggled. “Well, who, then? Jimmy Stone?”

He pressed a hand to his mouth to smother the full-bellied laugh that burst up. When he’d controlled himself sufficiently, he lifted his chin and said in a haughty voice, “A secret admirer.” The facade crumbled when Amelia had to stop dancing to cover her own giggles with both hands. “Well, I mean, obviously!” he said, smiling.

The gramophone gave a squeak as it came to a stop, and they both tried very hard not to laugh too loudly without the music to cover it. “We’d better get to bed before mother comes down,” Amelia whispered. “She said I can sleep in the spare bedroom with you, isn’t that exciting?”

“Alright, then,” he said, subtly angling himself toward the direction he knew the room was in. “I’ll race you for who gets the warm side of the bed! Ready… set… go!”

They ran out of the family room, neck and neck, but the Doctor managed to swing himself around the doorframe before Amelia, pouncing on the large fluffy bed a second before her.

“Ha!” he crowed, punching the air with a fist and falling down on his back in the middle of the mattress, which was much larger than either his or Amelia’s single beds and laid with a sinfully soft and warm down-stuffed blanket.

“Shh!” she hissed, but tickled his ribs in the next second in retaliation, making him laugh helplessly. “You cheated!”

“How?” he managed breathlessly between giggles.

“I don’t know, but you did!”

Pouting, Amelia finally allowed the Doctor the side of the bed nearest the fire, but she put her icy toes on his leg and made him yelp. Smiling in smug satisfaction, she settled down on her pillow, turning toward him. “I hope you had a nice time, Doctor,” she said.

“Nice doesn’t even begin to describe it,” he said, curling his hands near his face as he laid on his side facing her. “I never dreamed of experiencing something so utterly perfect. I seriously doubt I’ll be able to sleep anytime soon, not with my mind whirling over the events of the evening!”

Mostly, he thought about the gold chain, which was hidden in its box in one of his boots so that he wouldn’t lose it. It was the most expensive thing he’d ever been given and he sincerely hoped it hadn’t been put into his pocket by mistake. The lack of card meant that he’d never know who’d given it, nor if it was truly intended for him. Perhaps they’d come forward if he wore it often? He’d have to get Sarah Jane to teach him how to make more waistcoats.

Fleetingly, he thought of Rose and of Amelia’s suggestion that she could be his ‘secret admirer.’ The expense and the white rose pendant certainly made for a strong case in her favor. But Rose had ignored him so thoroughly, it just didn’t make sense… and hadn’t _that_ pained him more than it should! He hated the idea of Rose having such power over him, that a snub at a Ball had unexpectedly hurt him so.

Frowning, he pushed all thoughts of Rose Tyler aside and opened his mouth to wish his friend goodnight, only to discover that she’d already fallen asleep. He smiled, then yawned and pulled the blanket up to his chin. Perhaps the dancing had tired him out more than he realized.


	4. A Stay In London and A Watery Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor takes the entrance exam for the University of London, then finds himself in need of a rescue from a watery situation.

When Spring came, the Doctor’s life was taken up with endless studying for his upcoming university exam. Even the practice test that Mr. Mott had drawn up for the advanced students made his nerves fray drastically. Amelia did what she could to help him study, even going so far as to make flashcards with Latin verbs. She also wrote to her Aunt Sharon in London and asked if the two of them could stay for the day of the exam and the night before, which Sarah Jane thought was a wonderful idea. A long early-morning trip via buggy the day of the test surely wouldn’t help the Doctor’s score. But even the prospect of staying at such a grand house in London overnight couldn’t chase away the Doctor’s fears completely. He couldn’t even really enjoy the scenery as they traveled, it was one of those rare moments where not even his imagination could solve his anxiety.

Aunt Sharon was a silver-haired lady who appeared frail, with pale, paper-thin skin that showed knobbly veins on her hands, but her hazel eyes were youthful and alert. For all that she protested about her age, she was full of spirit and embraced the Doctor warmly even though it was his first time meeting her.

“I’ve heard so much about you from Amelia’s letters,” the old woman said with a smile. “You must be tired from your trip. I’ll have a bath prepared for each of you and then, I suppose you’ll want to cram for your exam?”

He shook his head. “Mr. Mott made me promise not to open a book. So I won’t get the jitters.” It was far too late for that, but he supposed anything that might help him calm himself was good. He shook his hands at his sides, trying to shake off some of those nerves.

“In that case, we can enjoy a leisurely dinner after you’ve freshened up,” Aunt Sharon declared. “And after your exam tomorrow, I’ve planned a tremendous surprise.”

She gestured for them to follow one of her maids who carried Amelia’s and the Doctor’s luggage for them. He couldn’t help but gape at the surroundings as they went upstairs; the dark wood paneled walls, the thick, elaborate carpets, the bright paintings, and potted plants. He almost felt as though he were walking through a museum! He held his elbows in tight, afraid he might knock something priceless onto the floor, smashing it to pieces. His heart, already pounding from nervousness, doubled its pace once more.

“I know you told me about this place when you visited before, but I had no idea you meant she was _this_ rich!” he whispered. “No wonder my imagination is so good. That’s one consolation of not being well-off… You have to dream all this up!”

After a dinner that the Doctor had been unable to eat much of, even though the dishes were of the highest quality, everything covered in a savoury sauce, he and Amelia went up for an early night in one of Aunt Sharon’s many spare bedrooms. He lay on his back, fingers plucking at the coverlet. Amelia turned on her side to look at him sympathetically.

“I wish I could go with you and help you somehow, Doctor,” she said.

“Please, don’t make me even more nervous,” he pleaded. “I’m trying to imagine away this horrible fluttery feeling in my heart.”

“You’ll definitely pass,” she said. “I have faith in you.”

He shook his head. “I’d rather not pass at all than come out somewhere in the middle,” he said, stubbornly. “Sarah Jane, Mr. Mott, you… Everyone has such high hopes for me. It would be such a disgrace if--” He bit his lip, but of course, Amelia was such a kindred spirit, she could read his very thoughts.

“If Rose came in first?” she finished.

He sighed. “I suppose I could settle for beating Rose Tyler, if I had to.”

“Just keep thinking about Rose, then. If you’re concentrating on beating her, then you leave no room to be nervous.”

It sounded reasonable. He just had to put it into practice. “Yes.” He rolled over, away from Amelia, placing one hand under the pillow beneath his head. “Rose.”

He thought about her calling him ‘Chinny’ and him spilling ink over her. His subsequent punishment at the blackboard. The apology she gave and his rejection. Her cheeky wink on the day of the picnic. Looking down at her worried face from the top of Clara’s roof. The Christmas Ball. Her tongue-touched smile. Somehow, all these images melded together with sleep, forming odd dreams of the two of them dancing to Christmas music on a rooftop, in the midst of dark, inky rain.

* * *

The next day, the Doctor sat in a university classroom with forty-nine others, a mere fifty out of the two hundred taking the entrance exam. His hands restlessly fidgeted in his lap, turning the rose pendant around and around, first one way and then the other. One of his legs jounced rapidly up and down. He scarcely heard the professor at the front of the room telling everyone not to touch their papers until it was time.

He took a deep breath and swallowed hard, consciously stopping the movement of his leg, as his paper was set before him. He glanced to his right, where Rose Tyler sat a few seats ahead. As if she could sense his eyes on her, she glanced back as well, her gold eyes looking just as scared as he felt. He looked ahead to where the different teachers were sitting, focusing on Mr. Mott. The elderly teacher nodded to the Doctor encouragingly.

The dark robed professor held aloft a pocket watch, checking the time, and announced, “Begin.”

The Doctor’s stomach rolled over and for a moment, he was sure he would be sick. Then he saw his right hand reaching for his pencil and moving to the top of the page. He took another steadying breath. He could do this. He was the Doctor.

* * *

He was grateful to have Mr. Mott’s arm around his back as they left the university. He wasn’t entirely sure if his legs would continue to support him, they insisted on wobbling with every step. His stomach had settled somewhat, especially now that the exam was over. Whatever happened, it was in fate’s hands now. Well, and the professors. Obviously.

“For one awful moment, I felt the same way I had three years ago when I was waiting for Sarah Jane on the train platform,” he said. “Supposing that she never came for me and I’d be stuck in some kind of in-between, not knowing where to go or what to do.”

“You had me worried, too,” Mr. Mott said. “I could see you turning green!” He patted the Doctor’s back. “But I knew you’d pull through. I wish you all the luck in the world, Doctor. If anyone deserves to be successful, it’s you.”

“So, you really are leaving Leadworth?” he asked, drawing his brows together.

The teacher nodded. “Moving on, the way we do.” He offered a smile. “But true friends are always together in spirit.”

The Doctor pressed his lips together in a sad smile. “I’m going to miss you tremendously, Mr. Mott. Thank you. For giving us all the chance to make something of ourselves.” They paused at the edge of the grassy lawn. Rose was standing on a little hill a short distance away, watching the two of them, the slight breeze swirling her long striped skirt about her ankles. “Someone else wants to say goodbye.”

Mr. Mott turned and took the Doctor’s hand in both of his, giving it a warm shake. “I want to remind you of something you once told me. Tomorrow is always fresh…” He grinned. “With no mistakes in it.”

As the teacher walked off to give Rose a fond embrace, the Doctor thought about what he said. Perhaps it wasn’t just his own mistakes he should forgive… but others as well. He turned away, uncomfortable with the notion. He’d held onto his anger at Rose Tyler for so long. He didn’t know if he’d be able to let go of it now.

* * *

When he returned to Amelia at the town house, Aunt Sharon had them change into their best things, before sweeping them off in her carriage to a fine lunch at a cafe. Seated among so many wealthy patrons, a pianist playing softly in the corner of the room, the Doctor felt like a princeling in his frock coat and waistcoat with its double Albert chain as they dined on cucumber sandwiches and chicken salad and ice cream for dessert.

Amelia sat back in her chair with a sigh as she dropped her spoon in the little glass bowl in front of her. “I was born for city life,” she said with deep satisfaction.

Aunt Sharon smiled at her, then looked at the Doctor curiously. “And what’s your opinion?”

He tilted his head to one side. “I hadn’t… seriously thought about it until just now,” he said, truthfully. He thought of all he’d seen in the past two days and compared it to his life at Blue Balustrades. It was a simpler, more hard working sort of life, but… with it came a sense of belonging. Of warmth and happiness. “I think I might like living in town for a while, but in the end I believe I’ll always prefer the sound of the wind in the apple trees and the birds singing near the brook… more than the tinkling of crystal.”

The old woman chuckled as the piano sounded a small fanfare. A lady with wavy blonde hair piled elegantly on top of her head entered the room, wearing a beaded turquoise gown and carrying a matching fan of dyed ostrich feathers. She bowed graciously to the applause, then nodded to the pianist, who began to play an aria from _Madame Butterfly._ The lady opened her mouth and beautiful song poured forth, washing over the Doctor, making him tingle to the tips of his fingers. He closed his eyes, that he might enjoy it better. Listening to the phonograph at Amelia’s was so different to hearing opera sung in person! He could never have imagined how it would make him feel, and was incredibly grateful to Aunt Sharon for arranging such a splendid surprise.

“What do you think now, Doctor?” she asked in a whisper.

“Oh, I was wrong,” he breathed. “I don’t see how I could _ever_ go back to common life after this!”

* * *

Mr. Pond drove them back to Leadworth the following morning. While saying goodbye, Aunt Sharon offered to let the Doctor come and stay whenever he needed a place to study in London and extended the same welcome to Amelia, whenever she liked. The old woman admitted to having such fun with the two youngsters, but wouldn’t say how long since, with a girlish giggle.

At the crossroads, they saw Rose Tyler in a thick traveling coat, carrying a reticule at her side. Her gaze was polite but cautious when she glanced at the Doctor.

“Headed home, Miss Tyler?” asked Mr. Pond.

“I am, thank you,” she said.

“I wish we could offer you a ride.” He indicated the buggy, which had no room for a further passenger, not with Amelia and the Doctor’s luggage occupying the space where Rose would have sat.

“Oh, no, that’s quite alright,” she assured him with a smile. “I’m headed for the station. Jim-- That is, a friend is meeting me there.” She looked at the Doctor again, giving him a nod. “Good luck with the exam, Doctor. I hope you come in first. I know you’ve worked hard.”

“Thank you,” he said, touched by her generous statement. “But I’m sure the first will go to you.”

She bit her lip, reaching up one hand to fidget with her small earbob. “Well… we’ll see, won’t we.”

As the buggy passed her by, he couldn’t help but look back once. Mr. Mott’s words kept turning over in his head, warring with his own stubbornness all the while.

* * *

The Doctor banged his head on the piling of the bridge, clinging to the wet, somewhat slimy wood with his arms and legs, wondering just how he got himself into messes like this.

In an effort to take his mind off of the impending exam results, he’d convinced Amelia and Rory to help him reenact his favorite dramatic scene from _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner._ Of course, they didn’t have a grand sailing ship, or an albatross to hang about his neck for that matter, but they made do with Rory’s dorry.

Unfortunately, when the two friends pushed the Doctor off in the little boat, the rocky shoreline must have scraped the bottom, because halfway across the Lake of Shining Waters, the dorry started sinking. Luckily, it was close to passing underneath the bridge, so he abandoned ship and there he waited, because he didn’t know how to swim and couldn’t see a way of climbing up the large round piling onto the bridge proper. He was just glad Amelia and Rory had convinced him it wasn’t safe to actually tie him to the boat, even if it wasn’t authentic to the poem. When his friends reached the other side of the lake, they’d see that he hadn’t reached the opposite shore and would go looking for him. He just had to be patient.

When he heard the rhythmic click of footsteps on the bridge, he leaned back to see who it was with an expectant smile… which faded as he found himself looking up at Rose Tyler. She leaned on the railing, an expression of disbelief and mild exasperation mixed with concern on her face.

“Doctor, what in the world are you doing?” she asked.

He looked about himself as he searched for the answer. “I’m… fishing,” he said, finally, in a haughty tone that said it should be obvious to the casual observer.

Rose lifted an eyebrow. “Fishing?”

He nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then.” Her face disappeared.

He winced. Those in dire situations really shouldn’t be picky about their rescuers. And he was awfully cold from the water. His pride caved. “Wait! Please!”

He heard her pause, then her head reappeared as she leaned back over the rail.

“The truth is, I was in Rory’s skiff and it sprang a leak,” he said, looking up at her apologetically. “I had to either climb on the piling or sink. Do you think you could possibly help me?”

He was grateful when she didn’t tease him for not knowing how to swim; perhaps she didn’t possess the skill either. She leaned out a bit further, biting her lower lip as she assessed his situation. It didn’t take her long to come to the same conclusion he had, that there wasn’t a way for him to climb up, even if she could reach his hand to help him. Then she looked off the way she came.

“Hang on,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

It was ten minutes later, by the Doctor’s best guess, and he was seriously thinking about telling Rose to rethink her definition of ‘right back,’ when he heard the stroke of oars through water. He craned his neck to look behind him and his mouth dropped open when he saw Rose rowing towards him in a little boat. She reached up and grabbed the bridge as she began to pass under in order to stop her momentum, then helped the Doctor awkwardly climb into the boat without overturning them.

“Here, I’ll row,” he said, reaching for the oars.

“Don’t be silly,” she said, untying her woolen shawl from around her shoulders and handing to him. “You’re shaking from cold, you’ll have us turning in circles.” She smiled. “Put this on and I’ll get you to the landing.”

He felt the urge to refuse the shawl, but decided after everything that had happened, his manly pride could handle yet another blow. He wrapped it around himself tightly, tying a knot in the ends. It wasn’t the best defence against the chill, but at least his teeth stopped chattering.

“Whose boat?” he asked, at length.

“The Jones’s,” she said. “They were the closest neighbor with a boat that I knew of. I’m sure they won’t mind me borrowing it to rescue you.”

“Amelia and Rory would have eventually found me,” he insisted.

“I’m sure,” she said, tucking her tongue into her smile. “But who knows how long that would have taken, and perhaps now you won’t catch pneumonia.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he was silent for the rest of the short trip to the shore. When he climbed out of the boat and made to hurry off, Rose called after him, “You’re quite welcome!”

He paused, feeling like a heel. Could he really not even bring himself to thank her for going out of her way to help him? He turned around, a tremulous smile on his lips. “I am grateful for your assistance, Miss Tyler, even though it wasn’t strictly required.” He suppressed a grimace. Apparently, his mouth had other ideas besides a simple ‘thank you.’ He took a step away, wanting nothing more than to retreat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find my friends. They are likely overcome with fear for my life.”

“Wait, Doctor, wait a minute,” she said, quickly climbing out of the boat and trotting after him. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a piece of folded paper. “I was just down at the post office to see if the results from the university had been printed.”

Disappointment made his heart sink. “Congratulations on coming in first, Rose,” he said, unable to keep the bitter tone out of his voice. “I’m sure you’re very proud of your accomplishments!”

He turned to go once more and she grabbed his wrist, snapping, “Hold on there, you prat!”

He looked back at her in sheer astonishment and she held out the paper to him, annoyance sparking gold flecks in her hazel eyes.

“Would you just look?” she asked, but more demanded. “We _tied_ for first place. You _and_ I. Figured you’d have it for sure,” she added, in a softer voice. “We all passed, the whole advanced class.”

He stared down at his name, which was side by side with Rose’s, at the top of the page. “First?” he repeated, breathlessly. “Out of _all_ two hundred?”

“I’m sorry you had to share it with me,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes.

“I never expected to beat you,” he said, honestly.

She fidgeted with her hands, then burst out, “Can’t we be friends, Doctor? Don’t you think this past childishness has gone on long enough?”

He pursed his lips, upset at being called childish, even if he’d been thinking the same thing ever since the exam. He still had _some_ pride left. “The fact that you rescued me unnecessarily hardly wipes away past wrongs.”

She sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I ever said anything about your chin. You have no _idea_ how sorry. It was stupid of me, I never should have left Jimmy talk me into it, I only did it because--” She hesitated, her cheeks turning pink. “Well, because I wanted to meet you so much.”

That brought him up short. Had she really only teased him because she hadn’t known a better way of getting his attention? But thinking about getting someone’s attention… “Why did you ignore me at the Christmas Ball?” he asked, a trifle indignantly.

“Doctor, that was over a _year_ ago!”

“It was still a deliberate humiliation.”

She lifted an eyebrow, putting a hand on her hip. “Well, I knew what _you_ were thinking, too. You and Amelia Pond, scheming away to get me to bend to your whims.” Her expression softened then and she reached out, flicking the gold chain attached to his waistcoat. “And… I didn’t ignore you completely,” she said, quietly, without looking at him.

He gaped. “It was you?”

She nodded, glancing up at him hopefully. “Can’t we be friends now?”

He didn’t know, he just didn’t know. The scorn he’d become so used to with Rose was fighting for dominance over the forgiveness that wanted to bubble up. His pride told him that he shouldn’t let her get away with it, while his compassion argued that Rose had paid for her transgression many times over. “I--” He swallowed. “I have to go,” he said, running off, his feet squelching in his boots.

“Doctor! Wait!” she called.

He whirled around on the spot, his arms flailing, and shouted, “Everyone will think I’ve drowned!”

He figured it was a pretty good excuse, as excuses went, but he couldn’t help feeling like the worst sort of coward as he left her standing there on the edge of the lake. Even his near experience with drowning couldn’t compare to the fear Rose Tyler evoked in him. He didn’t know how to feel about her anymore and that… that was truly frightening.

It wasn’t until he was halfway home that he realized he was still wearing her shawl and hadn’t a clue how to get it back to her. It smelled of lake water, so he decided he’d wash it and figure out what to do with it then.


	5. The Long Way Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor goes away to university for a year, but his heart will always find its way home to Leadworth.

“So, what are you going to recite, Doctor?” asked Billy as he packaged up the Doctor’s purchases at the general store. He and Sarah Jane had picked out some beautiful maroon fabric for a new waistcoat and the order had finally arrived.

“I’ve chosen _The Highwayman,”_ he said with an excited smile. “It’s very pathetic, about a doomed love! Clara Oswald is giving a comic recitation, but I prefer to make people cry.”

“Are you nervous?” Billy asked as he began wrapping up the other purchases the Doctor had selected, a sheaf of paper, some new pencils, and a large selection of dyed wool for Sarah Jane.

“A little bit,” he confessed, holding up his thumb and forefinger a tiny distance apart. “I can’t really help it. Still, I feel very well-prepared and that helps.” It was another of his favorite poems and he’d read it innumerable times, so it hadn’t been hard to get it ready for the performance.

“My mum tried to convince me to sing,” said Billy in an undertone. “I told her that what I do in the storeroom is no one else’s business!” The mousy haired young man blushed deeply as he realized what he’d said could be taken in a completely inappropriate manner. “I mean, the hospital is a worthy cause and all, but I’m not prepared to suffer humiliation for it!”

“Well, we’re all amateurs,” said the Doctor, kindly choosing to overlook Billy’s unfortunate choice of words. “They may be sorry they asked any of us to perform at the end of it.”

“Hardly the case with _you,_ Doctor,” said Billy, smiling. “After coming first in the London University exam, you can do no wrong in this community!” He piled the packages up and handed them off. “I’ll see you at the concert!”

As the Doctor left Nightingale’s Mercantile, he wished he’d thought to bring a basket or a satchel to carry his purchases as he started down the road toward Blue Balustrades, but he did the best he could, occasionally juggling and tilting his arms to balance things properly. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a buggy pulled alongside him and he heard Rose Tyler call a greeting to him. He’d successfully avoided her since the incident at the lake, her shawl stuffed in the back of his wardrobe, but he couldn’t very well ignore her now as she slowed her horse to his pace.

“Can I offer you a ride?” she asked. When he hesitated, she added, “I thought we were going to be friends?”

Guilt made him stop walking. “Well, alright,” he said at last. “It is rather awkward with all these.”

Rose helped him pile his paper wrapped parcels at her feet before offering a hand to help him up beside her. As she flicked the reins to get them moving again, the Doctor bit his lip, tapping his fingers together. He felt nearly as embarrassed as he had when she rowed him ashore, and utterly at a loss for what to say, which he was completely unused to. He knew he should say _something,_ however. Rose deserved that. In the end, courtesy won out and he said, “It was good of you to stop.”

She offered him a kind smile and gently teased, “It seems I’m making a habit of getting you out of awkward situations.”

He conceded her point with a nod. “I’ve thought a lot about what happened at the bridge, Rose.” He gesticulated with his right hand as he tried to muddle through an apology. “What I mean to say is, it was very rude of me to just run off and leave you there. But was I overwrought when I learned my score-- _our_ score,” he amended with a quick glance at her. “I mean… I wasn’t myself,” he finished, still feeling that his explanation lacked something.

“That’s alright,” she said. “Life’s too short to hold grudges.”

He felt his cheeks heat up a bit. He could hear the sincerity in her tone, she wasn’t prodding him about the grudge _he’d_ held against her for so long, she honestly was forgiving him. So easily. “That’s quite valiant of you to say,” he said, looking down at the road. “You’ll go far with that kind of attitude.”

She just shrugged, then asked, “Do you know what you’re going to study at the University?”

“I plan on taking my teacher’s license in one year instead of two, like Mr. Mott suggested, so that I can start working sooner to earn money for medical school.”

“So you still intend to become a real doctor?” she asked. “I thought you might have changed your mind. I think you’d make a wonderful actor. Perhaps you could give a true Shakespearean portrayal of Ophelia.” She looked at him and burst out laughing. “I’m only teasing you!” she said, bumping his shoulder with hers. “I heard you’re performing _The Highwayman_ at the charity concert.”

“Well, my life is an open book, I see,” he said in mild annoyance. “Who told you that?”

She pursed her lips, looking contrite. “I have a confession… I was just at Nightingale’s myself, and Billy told me you were walking home.”

“Oh.” The bluster went out of him. Rose wasn’t spying on him, she was just subject to Billy’s gossiping, as he was, as was anyone who came into his family’s store.

“I’ll be going to the recital,” she said, suddenly. “I’ll try to get you an encore while you’re up there, so be sure you have a second selection prepared.”

He scoffed. “No one’s going to encore me.”

“Well, I would.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her, unable to decide if she was being serious or teasing him yet again. “Can’t imagine Jimmy would appreciate you making such a grand gesture towards me,” he sniffed.

“Jimmy won’t be attending,” she said. Was that a small note of satisfaction in her voice? “Which leaves me free to be escorted by… anyone _else_ who might be going.”

He gaped at her, his eyes wide. Rose seemed to be angling for an invitation from _him!_ His heart pounded and he gripped his knees to keep his hands from fluttering in his confusion. “Well, uh…” he said, oh-so-articulately. “I don’t know… I was going to go with the Ponds…”

“I know for a fact that Amelia is being escorted by Rory,” said Rose, something he’d known, of course; they were all just going to go together. It hadn’t occurred to him to offer to escort someone. “Besides, aren’t you old enough to make up your own mind?”

He bristled at that, despite the fact that he knew she was deliberately provoking the response. “I’ve _always_ been ‘old enough’ to make up my own mind!” he said, hotly. “Very well, then, Rose, would you accept my invitation of an escort to the recital?”

Even though he’d asked out of spite, she smiled cheerfully, as though he’d given the sweetest of compliments. “I’d be pleased to!”

He set his jaw. The little minx! She’d manipulated him! How she always managed to tie him up in knots, he’d never understand! But he wouldn’t take back his invitation, he had his pride.

That is, until the day before the recital when his nerves swallowed his pride whole. He went down to the Pond’s that afternoon with a handwritten apology to beg a favor of Amelia. He couldn’t even bring himself to refuse Rose to her face, because he knew if he saw her, he’d forget what he was going to say, or let her talk him out of it. Amelia took the letter, but frowned at him.

“Why won’t you go with her?” she asked.

“There are lots of good, sensible, important reasons why I won’t,” he fibbed. He was certain there _were_ reasons, but he could only think of one, and he didn’t want to tell Amelia that he was afraid. He was sure she’d forgive him this lie. “I only asked her in the first place because she tricked me into it.”

“Well, I think you owe her an explanation,” she said.

“I know.” He tapped the letter he’d given her. “That’s why I need you to deliver this for me.”

She sighed, but agreed that she would.

* * *

Amelia waited until they were at the grand hotel before taking the Doctor aside to give him Rose’s answer. “I didn’t want Rory or mum and dad to overhear,” she said in explanation.

His stomach twisting with nerves, he took the folded piece of paper and read it, at first to himself, then murmuring the words aloud. “…you’re entitled to your own opinion. It would have been easier if you’d told me in person, if you truly consider me your friend. I’m still going to the recital, but owing to the circumstances, I hope you don’t mind if I seek another escort. Sincerely, Rose Tyler.” He sighed, folding the paper back up and absently putting it in his pocket. “She doesn’t understand, Amelia,” he said, feeling sick at heart. “I shouldn’t be a coward about this. Please tell her I’ll speak to her the first moment I can steal away tonight.”

“Calm down, Doctor,” she said, taking his hands in hers.

He shook his head, his fears beginning to swirl together in one large internal storm. “I’m so ashamed for running from her. I can’t go up on that stage. I can’t! It’ll be such a disgrace if I fail!”

Amelia frowned and grabbed his shoulders, giving him a little shake. “You’ve never failed at anything, Doctor! Now you go up there!” Brooking no further argument, she turned him around and gave him a push into the hall where everyone was taking their seats.

He thought maybe if he sat and took some deep breaths while the other performers went up, he could calm down a bit, but he only grew more and more nervous as everyone in turn was wonderful. To make matters worse, Mrs. Adelaide Brooke went on right before he did. She was the one professional actress the hospital had secured to perform among the amateurs. She recited the tragic poem _The Waters of Mars_ with such feeling, the Doctor saw the ladies seated near him being moved to tears. Enthusiastic applause followed, and Ms. Harriet Jones, the liaison from the hospital, came forward with a bouquet of peonies for Mrs. Brooke.

“We would like to offer our indebtedness to Mrs. Brooke for gracing us with such a stirring performance in support of today’s benefit. Thank you,” Ms. Jones said, clapping her hands once more as Mrs. Brooke swept off the stage in her long sea-foam colored gown. “And now,” continued Ms. Jones, casting an eager glance in the Doctor’s direction, “I would like to present one of Leadworth’s most celebrated students, who achieved the highest standing in the latest exam from the University of London: Mr. John Smith, better known to most of us as the Doctor!”

For two agonizing seconds, he sat frozen in his seat. A lump was growing in his throat, much too large for him to say _anything_ , much less recite an epic poem. But everyone was looking at him now, so he stiffly got to his feet and straightened his waistcoat, which made the gold chain clink merrily. It made him think about Rose and, as he took the stage, his eyes automatically sought her out.

He easily spotted her golden hair in the middle of the crowd. He also saw who was sitting next to her. Jimmy Stone. Wearing his trademark smirk. He’d probably only shown up to see the Doctor fall on his face. On the other side of the crowd, he saw Amelia, Rory, and Sarah Jane. Amelia was biting her lip in worry. He looked back at Rose. She wasn’t smiling, but she gave him an encouraging nod.

He swallowed hard. He could do this. Rose knew it, Amelia knew it, so he had to believe it, too.

“The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,” he began in a low tone, so all would have to hush to hear him, setting the mysterious atmosphere. “The moon was a ghostly galleon, tossed upon cloudy seas.” He pictured himself on that dark highway in the forest, the moon caught in the naked branches of the trees, and painted it for the audience with his voice. “The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor.” He tried to emulate the slow loping gait of a horse with his cadence on the refrain lines, “and the highwayman came riding-- riding-- riding-- the highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.”

He closed his eyes when he got to the line, “One kiss my bonny sweetheart,” delivering it with such longing emotion, imagining he really had a ‘bonny sweetheart’ to kiss farewell. He heard the ladies in the room sigh, and he resisted the urge to smile, which wouldn’t fit the mood of the poem at all.

His voice built to a rousing crescendo as he recited the climax of the poem, with the highwayman’s lover warning him of danger with her own death. “Back he spurred like a madman, shouting a curse to the sky!” he cried, speaking as rapidly as the horse’s hoof beats. “With the white road smoking behind him, and his rapier brandished high!” he ended on a shout, raising his own arm aloft, as if he held the sword that flashed in the afternoon sun. Slowly, he lowered it, his voice turning slow and grave as he painted the grisly finale, “Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat; when they shot him down on the highway, down like a dog on the highway, and he lay in his blood on the highway,” he gestured with one hand near his crimson bow tie, his voice a tragic whisper, “with a bunch of lace at his throat.”

The crowd hung on his last words, breathless, before breaking into wild, rapturous applause. He bowed, then quickly left the stage so he could sit down before his legs decided to play a trick on him. He thought it might have been Rose’s voice that first shouted ‘encore,’ but he couldn’t be sure, because it was repeated by several others at once, the applause continuing. Ms. Jones encouraged him to go back up, and when he shook his head, the audience began to get on their feet, clapping and clapping. When he looked up at everyone, he was caught by Rose’s sunny smile, by her bouncing on her toes as she applauded, and he was lost.

He took the stage again with another gracious bow. He hadn’t truly prepared a second selection, but he had several of his favorite poems memorized, so it mattered little. With another glance at Rose, giving the barest hint of a wry smile, he began _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner._

* * *

The problem with giving such a successful performance was that everyone wanted to meet him afterward. And if not meet, then at least say hello, shake his hand, tell him how moved they’d been, and on and on. Not that he would have had much of a problem with all this, he was quite grateful and pleased that so many people had liked his recitations, but he wanted to speak to Rose. Had Amelia told her that he wanted to talk? He hoped so.

When he looked out of the reception room and saw Rose standing by herself near the entry staircase, he excused himself and walked in her direction. A little smile touched her lips and she stepped forward as well… Only to be cut off by Sarah Jane, Amelia, and Rory, who crowded around him, saying his performance was just as good as the professional Mrs. Brooke and how many people were asking about him.

He smiled at them, but his attention was on the blonde behind them, wondering how he could slip away from those he loved most in order to talk to her. While he watched, Jimmy approached Rose with his hands on his hips, clearly irritated.

“What was all that about, you fawning over Chinny like that?” he demanded, their words just audible under those of his friends and family.

She scowled at Jimmy. “Well, you sure couldn’t get up there and give a recital like that.”

“I could be up there on stage, if I wanted!” he snapped.

She scoffed. “I’d like to see _that_ sometime, Jimmy Stone! Why did you even agree to come here with me, if you’re going to act like this! Find your own way home, why don’t you, I’m done!”

The two departed in opposite directions. Rose’s face was flushed red with anger. She was leaving! He didn’t know if he’d ever have the courage to face her again after this, he had to stop her. Just as he opened his mouth to beg pardon of Sarah Jane, Amelia, and Rory, Ms. Jones appeared at his side, taking his arm.

“You’ll forgive me for stealing him away, won’t you?” she said with smile. “There are just so many people who want to meet our young Doctor!”

He allowed Harriet to lead him a short distance back toward the reception room before stopping her with a hand on hers. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s someone I absolutely must talk to. I’ll come right back, I promise.”

“Alright, dear, but please do hurry. I have important people waiting!” she said.

Not allowing himself to be stopped by anyone else, the Doctor walked as quickly as decorum allowed out of the hotel, then broke into a run outside to the end of the drive, searching frantically for Rose in her shimmery white gown. He caught a glimpse of golden hair and a flash of white far down the road, almost swallowed by the trees.

“Rose! Rose!” he shouted, waving his arms madly, to no avail. She never looked back. With the wind and the distance and the clatter of her horse and buggy, she would never hear him. He sighed, feeling an odd heaviness inside. Disappointment, he thought. And regret. He should have escorted her himself.

It was nearing sunset when the benefit broke up and people began heading home. He and Amelia stood on the windswept hill at the back of the hotel, watching the sun slowly sink to the horizon and the sky turn pink and red and gold. She’d apologized for not being able to talk to Rose before the concert and offered to take the blame for Rose leaving before she and the Doctor could speak. He couldn’t let her do that, though. He’d already placed the blame where it belonged, squarely on his cowardly shoulders. Some things just weren’t meant to be.

Amelia nudged his shoulder, smiling playfully. “Did you see all those diamonds the fancy ladies were wearing?” she asked. “If we were rich, we could spend the whole summer at a hotel. Eating ice cream and chicken salad.”

His smile was more thoughtful, as he pondered the glimmering picture she painted. It was a nice thought, but… When he thought of the warmth of home, of the comfort he received just from a quiet evening by the fire with his aunt, of the joy he felt spending time with Amelia and lately, Rory, too… It just didn’t compare. Not one bit.

“You know something, Pond? We _are_ rich,” he declared. “We each have sixteen years to our credit and we both have wonderful imaginations. We should be happy as a king and a queen.” He gestured out to the setting sun and it’s magnificent display of colors across the sky. “Just look at that. You couldn’t enjoy its beauty any more than if you had _ropes_ of diamonds.”

She pursed her lips and looked at him sidelong. “I don’t know about _that…”_ she said, but he knew she was just teasing.

“Well, I’ve found happiness here in Leadworth,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “And I’m not going to let anything hold me back anymore. Not even myself.”

“Good luck.”

He rolled his eyes and gave her a light shove. “Thank you for your _unwavering_ confidence in me, Pond!”

She shoved him right back and he stumbled. “You mean the confidence that got you on stage this afternoon when you were ready to go hide in a corner? You’re _welcome!”_

He grinned, wrapping an arm around her. She never let him get away with anything and it was just one more reason why he loved her and needed her as his best friend.

* * *

At the start of Fall, Sarah Jane took the Doctor to the train station. Mr. Mott met them there to see him safely off to London as well. Because of the distance, the Doctor would be boarding in town for the school year, but he’d promised to write as often as his work permitted.

Sarah Jane’s breath caught in her throat as she looked at him standing on that platform and he could imagine how he looked to her; so much taller than he used to be, wearing a suit that fit and looked well on him, holding a large carpet bag that didn’t need to be handled a certain way lest it fall apart.

“I should probably get aboard, it’ll be easier if I just go,” he said, blinking rapidly in order to hold back any tears that threatened to well up. “I’ll miss you both dreadfully.”

“Oh, now, don’t get emotional over nothing,” said Sarah Jane, though the moisture in her own eyes belied the sternness in her words.

“Nothing?” he repeated, incredulously. “You mean the world to me, Sarah Jane!” Impulsively, he put his free arm around her, squeezing her tight, and kissed her cheek.

“So much nonsense,” his aunt said, but she looked down at the platform and fidgeted with her reticule, clearly unable to fathom how she should react to his affection when she was experiencing such strong emotions. “Are you going to kiss him, too?”

The Doctor lifted his eyebrows at Mr. Mott, but the old teacher just chuckled and shook his head as if to say a kiss wasn’t necessary where he was concerned.

They wouldn’t say goodbye as the station master called for the all aboard and the Doctor took his leave of them. The two elders he looked up to most waved as he sat down at the window, his face a bit paler than usual behind the glass, but with no tears staining his cheeks.

“Are you worried for him, Ms. Smith?” Mr. Mott asked. “He’ll be gone for nearly a whole year. I’m sure he’ll miss you.”

“You mean I’ll miss him,” Sarah Jane corrected, gently, knowing it for the truth that it was. Her heart already ached as the train began to inch away. She sniffed, determined not to spoil the Doctor’s departure with any crying. “I suppose part of me can’t help wishing he’d stayed a little boy.”

“It was lucky he was spared in that fire,” Mr. Mott said, having heard the story from the Doctor some time ago.

“Hmm,” Sarah Jane gave a short, thoughtful little laugh that was less about humor and more about the ways of the universe. “It wasn’t luck, it was God,” she said with certainty. “He knew I needed him.”

“Even for all his queer little ways?”

She smiled, sadly. “I loved him for them,” she said, her voice choked.

* * *

Because the Doctor had chosen to take his teaching license in one year instead of two, his life became extremely busy all at once. The professors promised a difficult struggle over the coming months. He was grateful for it, because when he wasn’t busy, he found himself pining for home and shed a few tears more than once upon receiving letters from Sarah Jane and Amelia. His bosom friend revealed that it was not just him she missed, but Rory as well, who was in the two year program.

Rose was in the one year program with the Doctor, but thus far, he’d avoided her completely, using the work as an excuse. It did nothing for his guilt, however, which only grew as time passed and the distance yawned ever greater between them. He thought of her whenever he attached his chain to his waistcoat. He was six months into the term when Amelia reminded him in a letter of his promise not to let anything hold him back.

Screwing up what courage he could, he wrote Rose a letter, thinking he could leave it for her at the desk of her study hall. Then he saw her with a handsome male student with rakish curly black hair. They were laughing and talking, their heads bent close together over some book or another and the Doctor’s courage evaporated in a wild flare of jealousy.

Why had he ever allowed himself to think that Rose might fancy him? When had he come to _want_ that from her? Just because she’d wanted him to ask her to the recital, just because she’d encored him, just because she’d defended him to Jimmy Stone… It didn’t mean to her what it did to him, just like when she’d called him Chinny so many years ago. It was with a grain of the old scorn he’d previously held for her that he marched away without letting her see him, tearing the letter into pieces.

He threw himself back into his schoolwork, gaining the respect of his professors for his high marks and enthusiasm in what was admittedly a difficult task. He didn’t do it just to distract himself from his troubles, however. He’d heard that the graduate who earned the highest mark of the term in English Literature would be granted the Copper Scholarship; two hundred and fifty pounds every year for four years. If he earned that, he wouldn’t need to start teaching, he could go into medical school right away. For all that he would miss Sarah Jane and Amelia terribly, to have a headstart on his goal was an exciting thing. He’d have that scholarship, if hard work could do it.

* * *

“Dear Sarah Jane,” his aunt read the latest of the Doctor’s letters one evening in late Spring as she sat on the front porch of Blue Balustrades with a cup of her favorite tea. She’d taken to reading them out loud in her solitude, imagining that she could hear his exuberant voice as clearly as she could read his rushed, slanted handwriting on the page.

“It hardly seems possible that the term is almost over. I’ve become so preoccupied in my work that I’ve almost lost track of time, something that has seemed impossible to me before. I thought I could feel each second as a grain in an hourglass, now I lose whole sections of days with my head buried in a book or pouring over my notes. Here I am, at last, with exams looming ahead of me and for the time being, they are all that exist in the world, aside from my letters to you and to Amelia. I can’t help but feel nervous, but as you sometimes said, ‘The sun will go on rising and setting, whether I fail in geometry or not.’” Sarah Jane chuckled, remembering when she’d first mentioned the saying to him, letting him add it to his ‘collection.’ “I’d much prefer to think that it didn’t go on, if I failed. I miss you fiercely. You, and Blue Balustrades. Yours, with all my heart, the Doctor.”

She sighed as she looked back over his words, reading between the lines the terrible loneliness in her nephew, still so young as to crave his aunt’s affection. She folded the paper and smoothed her hands over it, wishing she might smooth the worried creases from his brow just as easily.

* * *

After the week of exams, the Doctor felt utterly drained. He’d expected to feel glad that it was over, the culmination of a year’s work, but he was bereft of the ability to feel anything, just numbness. He’d poured everything he had into the final exams and now it was time to graduate with his teaching license. He thought he’d at least feel apprehension over finding out whether or not he’d won the Copper Scholarship, but it seemed even that escaped him.

Rory walked alongside him on the way to the dressing rooms behind the auditorium, patting him awkwardly on the back in the face of such melancholy. “Cheer up, Doctor, I’m sure you’ll win at least one of the awards.”

“I’m not certain I care anymore,” the Doctor said in a flat tone. He wasn’t really sure of anything, in this void of emotion he seemed to be floating through.

His friend frowned with a hint of the displeasure the Doctor knew he’d see on Amelia’s face, were she there to hear him. The ginger haired girl had rubbed off on Rory and the Doctor couldn’t help a little smile at the fact. “That’s a fine way to think, after all the work you’ve put in,” said Rory.

“I shouldn’t even hope for the scholarship,” the Doctor said, glumly. “I’ve heard rumors that Adam Mitchell is going to get it.” Adam was, in fact, the pretty boy with whom Rose had been studying when the Doctor had tried to seek her out that once. It was with no small amount of bitterness that he spoke the other young man’s name.

Rory, looking for the bright side, said, “Well, then you’ll get the gold medal.” The medal was awarded for excellence in English Literature and was a highly lauded achievement. It wouldn’t help him with medical school the way the scholarship would, but it would probably help him gain a good teaching post if nothing else.

Still, he wouldn’t get his hopes up. “I’m not going to look at the bulletin board; I’m just going to go straight to the men’s dressing room. I’ll look at the standings later, when the crowd has thinned. If I fail, I want to see it alone, I don’t want anyone there to give me sympathy. I wouldn’t be able to bear that sort of cruel kindness.”

The sudden sound of distant cheering made them both stop on the path in confusion. It came closer as a large group of students emerged from the auditorium foyer and the Doctor was stunned to see two male students carrying Rose on their shoulders. His heart dropped as he heard them calling out “Three cheers for Rose Tyler! Winner of the gold medal!” If Rose had won the medal and Adam won the scholarship--

Then one of the group spied him standing there like a foolish rabbit and called out, “Three cheers for John Smith! Winner of the Copper Scholarship!”

The crowd descended on him like a flock of crows at an unguarded cornfield, two students hoisting him up on their shoulders before he could utter a word of protest. His eyes were wide with shock as the reality set in while half the crowd cheered for ‘John Smith’ and the other half cheered for ‘the Doctor.’

One way or another, he’d succeeded, and the day when he’d finally earn the title he’d claimed for so long was in sight.

* * *

Returning home to Leadworth for the Summer was bittersweet, because the Doctor didn’t know if he could bear being parted from it again. He’d spent only a few years here, and yet, the time had made such an impact on his life. Everyone he loved best was here, so it would always be home. The place he’d lived in with his parents would be the home of his memory, but Blue Balustrades was the home of his heart. The place where he felt he truly belonged.

Amelia leaned over and put her head on his shoulder, sighing, as they watched the sun set behind the trees at the far edge of the Lake of Shining Waters. They sat together on a grassy patch a short distance from the water, their arms around their drawn up knees.

“Four years,” she complained. “Even with you coming back for Summers, it’ll be awful. I’ll be so old by then.”

He snickered, knowing that four years was a long time, but she’d hardly be old. “You’ll still be beautiful, even when you get old,” he assured her.

“Even when my ginger hair turns grey?” she asked.

“Even then,” he said, warmly. “And it’s more likely you’ll be married and too busy with babies to be interested in your former bosom friend.”

She scoffed. “Married? To whom?”

He reached over and poked her in the side. “You know _exactly_ who, Pond.” Her shy little smile told him that she did. He just hoped Rory wouldn’t wait too long before he asked.

“Did you hear that Rose is getting the Leadworth school?” she asked, to change the subject from her and Rory.

“She is?” he asked, furrowing his brow a bit. “She’s not going to university for a degree?”

She shrugged a little. “Her parents can afford to send her, but when the board of trustees offered, she accepted.” She tilted her head a bit to look up at him. “Did you ever explain things to her?”

He looked at the rocky shore of the lake, pressing his lips together. “Some books are better left on the shelf,” he said, but he didn’t sound overly convinced. “I wish her well though. She’s a very determined young lady.”

Amelia snorted.

He blinked at her. “What?”

She lifted her head and rolled her eyes. “‘A very determined young lady...’ Will you listen to yourself? You’re in love with her!”

He about fell over as he jerked away from his friend, staring at her in astonishment. “Me?” he squeaked. “In _love_ with Rose Tyler? Well, that’s-- that’s just--”

“Completely and utterly true?” Amelia cut off his sputtering and finished for him, lifting her eyebrows. “Admit it, Doctor. You’ve been falling for her ever since she wouldn’t let you get away with ignoring her.” She poked him, just as he had her. “And Rose _did_ say that being smart was better than being handsome.”

Suddenly, the confused feelings that he’d thought he’d let go of (or at least suppressed so well that they’d diminished to nothing) returned in full force, the way they had on the day of the recital a year ago. Was Amelia right? Where the Doctor was generally ignorant of matters that closely concerned him, his friend always saw right to the heart of the matter. Had he merely been blind to what the crazy, mixed-up emotions within him really meant?

He didn’t know what to say, his mind was turning far too quickly for his mouth to keep up, so they sat in silence until the sun was all but gone, then departed with a hug while they could each get home in the twilight before it was truly dark. However, Amelia’s serious look told him without words to consider what she’d said.

As he was walking across the fields, the steady thud of hoofbeats reached his ears and he turned, surprise streaking through him like a falling star, to see Rose riding up on a dappled gray mare.

His heart pounded as she neared. He’d thought he might have a little time, to think about how he really felt, but it seemed fate was conspiring against him. Even in his apprehension, he couldn’t help but think she looked lovely, the last rays of sunset catching in the wisps of her hair that had escaped the braid she wore.

“Taking a shortcut, Miss Tyler?” he asked as she reined her horse to a stop, speaking more cheerfully than he felt, to hide his nerves. They hadn’t spoken for so long, and now he had no time to think of any fancy speeches. He felt utterly out of his depth.

“Ms. Smith said I might find you out by the lake,” she said, swinging down to the ground. She held the reins loosely in one hand as she closed the distance between them. “I know you’ll be leaving again soon and… well, I couldn’t let things stand as they were between us.”

“So, you ambush me?” he said with a smile which she returned.

“I thought it the best way to make sure you couldn’t avoid me,” she said, touching her tongue to the corner of her smile.

“Why are you going to teach at the school?” he asked, suddenly, finding that he was curious as to her reasons. “I know you could go for your degree if you wanted to.”

She gave a slight shrug. “I want to work, to do some good here in town. Mother seems to think that I should go away to university in order to meet a husband and--” She made a face. “That’s not what I want. Besides, who says I’m _not_ going to go after my degree?” she asked with another grin. “I’m going to be doing my lessons by correspondence.”

“Seems like an awful lot of work.”

She nodded. “But worth it.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you,” he said, blushing slightly as the compliment came out so quickly and honestly.

Rose ducked her head, not quite hiding the pleased flush that spread across her face. “Do you think you might be able to help me with the work when you come home for Summers and holidays? That is, if you think we can still be friends.”

“You want _my_ help?” he asked, slightly incredulous. He lifted an eyebrow, making a joke of it, “Aren’t you worried that I might spill another pot of ink all over you?”

Her slow smile wasn’t joking at all. It hinted at secrets he’d only just begun to unravel and his heart skipped a beat.

“I think you should be more worried that I’ll spill one over _you,”_ she said, moving a step closer and reaching out to grasp the edges of his coat. She pulled him down slightly as she lifted herself up on her toes, bringing her mouth close to his ear in order to whisper, _“Chinny.”_

She said it with such warmth and sweetness that, for once, the name held no anger for him. Only a slow blooming heat that spread from the center of his chest. That sensation burst into a thousand pricks of light as her lips brushed the side of his jaw, in case he missed her meaning. He found himself smiling down at her as she eased herself back on her feet. Even in the waning light, he saw her blush and reached out to trace her cheek with the tips of his fingers, brushing the tendrils of her hair behind one ear.

Shyly, yet with increasing hope, he extended his hand to her, wiggling his fingers as an enticement. “Walk me home?” He paused, then added with mild embarrassment, “If for no other reason than to retrieve your shawl which has long been in my possession.”

She laughed and he delighted in the sound of it. “Alright,” she said. “But that’s not why I’m doing it.”

Biting her lip on a smile, she slid her hand over his, lacing their fingers. This time, when he marveled at how well their hands fit together, he allowed himself the wonder of it instead of shying away as he had before. He thought perhaps that some things were indeed meant to be, that maybe they’d always been on this path, waiting to come to the same destination. Just… the long way round.


	6. The Doctor of Blue Balustrades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rory and Amelia are wed. The Doctor feels as if he's losing his bosom friend. At the same time, he's not sure how he really feels about Rose, and she isn't going to wait around for him to make up his mind for very long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this fic! I had a great deal of fun writing it, it gave me all kinds of sweet, squishy feels. I hope it warms your heart, whenever you choose to read it.

Rory proposed to Amelia at the beginning of the following Summer. Rose told the Doctor that he’d waited especially so Amelia’s best friend would be home from medical school for the wedding. Despite the gratitude he felt for that, the Doctor couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. The world would always keep turning, people would grow and change, and he couldn’t stop that no matter how much he wished to. It still felt like he was losing his bosom friend.

The Doctor’s mood had already been suffering. Medicine was undoubtedly a worthy subject, but there was very little scope for imagination in it. Everything was so exact. He’d taken solace in writing short stories late at night, his dreams flourishing on paper where they were absent in his day to day life. He’d grown so fond of a few of the tales, he’d sent them off to publishers, but they’d all been sent back, care of Blue Balustrades. When he’d returned home for the Summer, Sarah Jane had handed him the stack of thick envelopes with an apologetic smile. Apparently, there was little call for stories with dark, brooding heroes in the local magazines.

He shuffled down Lover’s Lane with Rose at his side, a dark cloud of melancholy over his head. Together, they gathered flowering boughs for Amelia and Rory’s wedding, placing the slender branches into the baskets Rose had strung over her gray mare’s saddle and the one basket the Doctor was carrying.

“Imagine, if you will,” he said, “a teacher telling you that your child isn’t good enough to enter their school, and you may have an inkling of what I am going through.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I love my stories with all the affection of a parent, Rose. I wrote them out of the best that is in me. If my best isn’t good enough, then…” He tugged at a stubborn branch with a frustrated growl. “Maybe I was mad to think I could publish. I might turn out to be a good doctor, but I’m without a doubt a mediocre writer.”

“Oh, don’t give up altogether,” said Rose. “I loved the stories you mailed to me with your letters.” She wrinkled her nose. “Even with all the high-brow language.”

He stopped walking down the path and stared at her. “You never said anything before.” He put his free hand on his hip. “You think my stories are full of faults, too, don’t you?”

Rose held up her hands. “I’m not trying to insult your ‘children’!”

“No, no, now the truth comes out, tell me how you really feel!” he said, frowning.

She rolled her eyes. “‘Wilt thou give up thy garter, oh, fairest of the fair?’” She made a face. “No one talks like that, Doctor! And your hero-- What was his name? The one who lived in a Highland castle.”

“Percival!” he said, indignantly. “So named for Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet, otherwise known as the Scarlet Pimpernel; the impeccable creation of Baroness Orczy!”

“That’s right,” she said, seeming unconcerned with the particulars. “Percival. He sits around mooning the whole time and when Rosemary is with him, he scarcely lets the girl get a word in edgewise! In real life, she’d have tossed him.”

He gaped at her, sputtering, incapable of forming a response for a moment while he attempted to comprehend her dislike. “Percival’s poetry would win the heart of any woman!” he protested at last.

She gave him a skeptical look then shrugged. “You wanted the truth of what I thought, Doctor. And if you really want to know what I think, you should write about places you know of, with characters who speak like real people. You don’t need to fancy everything up in order to make it romantic. There’s romance in everyday life, too. All around you. Just look at Amelia and Rory.”

“I don’t share your opinion,” he sniffed, haughtily, turning around to grab another tree bough.

Rose’s riding crop whistled in the air as she brought it across his backside with a sharp _thwack!_ He gasped, his back going ramrod straight as the sting bloomed across his hindquarters, before he whirled around, green eyes blazing.

_“I_ am not your _horse_ , Miss Tyler!” he snapped, his knuckles going white where he gripped the basket.

“I’m just trying to give you some friendly advice,” she said, just as sharply. “And you throw it in my face! You should write something _real_ , about people you _care_ for! You’d be _good_ at that!”

“Real people?” he scoffed. “Oh, yes, we’re blessed with intellectuals here in Leadworth. Like Amelia’s parents who thought she should learn how to be a good wife and keep house rather than go to university? Or like your mother, who wanted you to go to school just until you found a husband? How go your studies via correspondence, by the way?”

She glared at him. “Don’t you mock me and don’t you _dare_ bring my mother into this! She’s a product of her time and you know it. Women were expected to run a household back then.” She prodded him in the chest with the crop, making him take a step back. “And moaning and feeling sorry for yourself won’t help you write a better story or be a better doctor.”

He bit his lip and turned his back before she could see how deeply her statement had cut him. She was right about that, letting himself get depressed over being rejected by the publishers or by Amelia’s engagement did no one any good. And in light of his friend’s happiness, it seemed childish. But he didn’t like it being pointed out to him so bluntly, especially by Rose.

“Will you come with me to the Pond’s picnic this Sunday?” she asked in a softer voice.

He shook his head no, not trusting his voice.

“Look, Doctor, I’m sorry,” she said. “You know how we tend to butt heads sometimes. I was just trying to be helpful. Will you walk back with me? What else can I do?” She grasped at his sleeve and he swung back around, shaking her off.

“Why don’t you let me get a word in edgewise before I toss _you!”_ he said, tartly, before tossing the basket at her feet and stalking off, letting her deal with the blossoms on her own.

* * *

Sarah Jane found him with his head on the kitchen table. She didn’t ask, she just made them each a cup of tea and sat down across from him until he found his voice to tell her about the conversation with Rose. Then she shook her head and patted his hand.

“You take things too much to heart, Doctor,” she said. “Do you remember what you used to say? ‘Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes.’” She chuckled. “You haven’t lost your talent for making them, I suppose. Back when you first came here, there were times I thought you were possessed. Mind the time you dyed your hair? Oh, Lord.”

He mustered up a smile for the memory of his purple hair and subsequent haircut, running a hand over his head, through the strands which had completely grown back and flopped over his right eye. “I’m afraid I’ve never been one to endure personal criticism well. Rose gave her honest opinion of my writing today and I shouldn’t have taken my temper out on her for it.” He winced as he recalled his words. “I was so terribly spiteful.”

“I can imagine.”

“And our friendship… I can’t imagine it’ll be the same now.” He sighed, leaning his elbows on the table and placing his chin in his hands. “Why can’t she just behave sensibly instead of acting like a sentimental schoolgirl?”

“Because she loves you.”

He blinked. Sarah Jane said it so simply, as if it were plainly obvious. To him, it sounded absurd. “Love me?” he repeated. “I can’t know why.”

She smiled, knowingly. “Because you made Jimmy Stone and Adam Mitchell and all of those wishy-washy young men who waltzed by her look like spineless nothings.”

He thought about it for a moment. Rose had sparked some confusing feelings in him before he’d left for medical school last year, but time had passed and he was no longer certain if they could be anything more than friends. Neither of them had hinted at any tender feelings in their letters, but then, they’d mostly talked about school, teaching, and studying, with an occasional story from him. It was hardly the sweeping romance he’d written about. He didn’t know if he could picture it, him and Rose, together.

In some ways, he was still just as clueless about her as he’d been at thirteen. In most ways.

* * *

The Doctor laughed merrily at Amelia’s side as the haywagon bounced to a stop near the Pond’s backyard and the riders climbed out. He stayed put for a moment, enjoying the smell of the hay and the feel of his friend’s hand in his.

“Oh, this is glorious!” he said on a sigh. “Do you remember the time we slept all night in the hay loft?”

She giggled. “And I was so afraid that we were going to be attacked by that barn owl and--”

“Amelia!” Rory called from the long picnic tables. “We have to organize the gifts!”

“Duty calls,” she said to the Doctor before sliding off of the wagon and heading over to her fiance.

He felt the smile slip from his face as he watched Amelia take Rory’s hand. It hadn’t escaped his notice that most of the people at the engagement party were either with someone, or several someones. Again, he felt the sands of the hourglass slipping through his fingers, the endless winds of change. It made him wistful. In this very yard, years ago, he’d found his bosom friend. In a few weeks’ time, would this same yard see them torn apart?

He couldn’t think that way. He and Amelia had promised to be true to each other’s friendship, no matter what. He believed in their vow. He still kept that tiny braid of her red hair in his desk, a reminder of what would always be.

Believing himself poor company, he wandered off down toward the Lake of Shining Waters for a bit of privacy. Walking a short way onto the bridge, he leaned on the rail, watching the golden sunlight play on the rippling waves. He turned his head in surprise when he heard footsteps on the boards behind him and gave a half-smile when he saw that Rose had followed him.

“Are you always going to be sneaking up on me?” he asked as she joined him at the rail.

“I hope so,” she said, cheekily. “What are you thinking about, down here all by yourself?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I’m afraid to move or speak, for fear that all this wonderful beauty will just vanish like a broken silence.”

“So gloomy,” said Rose, pulling a face. “Doesn’t it remind you of our old school-day picnics?”

He hummed his agreement. “I don’t want any of it to change. I wish I could just hold onto those days forever. But I have a feeling things will never be the same again.”

She paused before speaking again, her voice hesitant. “Doctor, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you--”

Looking away from the water, he turned to her, holding up a hand to stop her words. “Rose, please, don’t.”

“Why not?” she demanded. “You’ve been avoiding me ever since that afternoon in the Avenue. Truthfully, you’ve been avoiding _this_ for much longer. You can’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I never thought you would come to care for me so,” he said, uncomfortably. “I kept away so you wouldn’t.”

“Absence doesn’t make the heart turn its back,” she said.

“Metaphorically speaking.”

“Prat,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I wanted to talk to you now because I’m going to be leaving Leadworth in the Fall, same as you. I’ve been accepted as a teacher in a private school for girls. I’ll teach fewer, smaller classes, so it will give me more time to work on my degree.”

“Rose, that’s wonderful!” he said, happy for her accomplishment, but she shook her head, waving her announcement away.

“I’m sorry for what I said about your stories. I wanted to show you that I care and I made a horrible mess of it.” She fidgeted with her hands. “Maybe you think I’m not good enough for you, but I hope to change your mind someday.”

His expression fell and he came forward to take her hands. “Oh, Rose, no. You’re a great deal too good for _me!_ And you deserve someone who will adore you, put you up on a pedestal, and build you a grand home.” He shrugged helplessly. “That’s not me.”

She pulled her hands away in exasperation. “Doctor, that’s not what I want at all!”

“We’d end up fighting all the time, like two old goats!” he said. “We’d both be unhappy and wish we’d never ruined what we had! Love complicates friendships!”

“Doctor, I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you during a three-legged race,” she said, seriously. “I can’t go away knowing that if I’d just--”

“Rose, I promise that I will always be there for you if you need me,” he said, stepping away from her. “And good friends are always together in spirit.” He shook his head. “Let’s not change, I don’t want to change. Let’s just go on being good friends.”

Her lips tightened briefly. “Friends?” she repeated, disappointment evident in her tone. “I thought we were kindred spirits.” She held out her hand to him in one last entreaty. “Please, Doctor.”

His chin wobbled as he looked in her deep hazel eyes before he shook his head again, this time with finality. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so desperately sorry.”

He turned and hurried back toward the party, sure that Amelia would be wondering where he was by then, and pretended he didn’t hear Rose running in the opposite direction across the bridge. Pretended it didn’t cause a pang of hurt in the region near his heart.

* * *

Amelia and Rory had both asked the Doctor to stand up with them at the wedding. He’d tried to protest, saying that Amelia should have a proper bridesmaid, and she’d fobbed him off, saying there was no one she’d rather have than her best friend at her side. So, with the rings safe in his new waistcoat pocket of dove gray, he did his duty to Amelia by helping her get ready for the ceremony.

He could tell she was nervous from the way she flitted about her bedroom, her hands shaking. So, when they wound up the phonograph to practice the wedding march, he tried to make Amelia laugh by singing along in a high, mocking falsetto voice.

“Oh, this song seemed so romantic when I chose it,” she said, between breathless giggles. “Now it feels so over the top!” She burst into laughter again when the Doctor grabbed a pillow case and put it over his head as a bridal veil. “Then again, maybe it only seems that way with _you_ singing it!”

“Now, now,” he said, picking up a handful of Amelia’s ribbons and garters from her dressing table and holding them in front of him like a sad, wilted bouquet. “This is you, nervously sweeping up the aisle on your father’s arm.” He brushed back imaginary hair from his shoulders. “Your ginger curls frosted over with the film of your delicate chiffon veil.” She snorted with laughter and he shushed her, taking her hands as she assumed the groom’s part. “You are the perfect bride as you look up into Rory’s red face and whisper, ‘I’m unwept.’”

She threw down his hands. “Oh, stop it! Don’t be mean!”

Dropping the ‘bouquet’ on the bed next to them, he lifted his ‘veil’ and blinked large worried eyes at her. “Just promise me one thing… If Rory faints, make sure you catch him!” He pirouetted with a hand dramatically on his brow and ‘fainted’ onto Amelia. Both of them thrown off-balance, they toppled onto her bed and the poor wooden thing cracked down the middle, crashing to the floor.

“Amelia!” Tabetha Pond shouted up from downstairs. “Amelia Pond, what in heaven’s name is going on up there?”

“Now you’ve done it,” Amelia muttered to the Doctor before shouting back, “Nothing, mother! We’re just rehearsing the wedding march!”

“Well, for pity’s sake, don’t march right through the ceiling!” her mother yelled.

The two friends giggled together, their heads inclined towards one another. It was a good thing Amelia wouldn’t be needing her single childhood bed anymore. She dropped her forehead down on the sagging mattress briefly with a groan.

“I don’t know how I’m going to get through this,” she said.

“You’ll be fine,” he promise. “Everyone survives the ceremony. It’s _afterwards_ that you have to worry about!” He wiggled his nearly invisible eyebrows at her suggestively.

“Oh, you’re so smug! As if you know anything about it!” she said, reaching back to poke him in the side. “Wait til _your_ turn comes, Doctor.”

His smile faded and he looked down at the floor. Amelia’s cheer instantly diminished, worry wreathing her face.

“What is it?”

“Rose confessed herself to me,” he said in a low voice.

“No!” she exclaimed, her mouth dropping open.

He nodded. “Yes. And I refused her.”

“You did _what?”_ Amelia struggled off the broken bed and grabbed a pillow to throw at him. “Are you out of your _mind?_ After all your flirting?”

He gaped and sat up. “I never flirted with Rose!”

She snorted with derision and rolled her eyes. “Please, that’s all you two _ever_ do! Rory even steered clear of Rose for you, did you know that? How could you?”

“Rory has only ever had eyes for you, so don’t hold that up as a weapon to guilt me, Pond,” he said. “I’m sure she despises me now. And you despise me for doing it. And I despise myself. I’m so humiliated over this whole stupid thing!”

Amelia sighed and carefully perched next to him. “Poor Doctor. I have no right to scold you. Things get so mixed up in real life. They’re never as clear as they are in romance novels.”

“And that’s the truth.”

* * *

It was a lovely ceremony, under a big white tent in the Pond’s yard, but the Doctor’s attention kept being drawn away from the happiness of his two friends. Rose’s miserable face stood out like a pale moon from the midst of the wedding guests, her focus more on him than on the bride and groom. It made his stomach clench; he couldn’t bear to be the cause of her sadness.

When at last Rory and Amelia were wed, the Doctor stayed long enough for cake and headed for the carriage house before the dancing could begin. He just wanted to get home and not think about marriage or romance for a while.

“Doctor, wait!”

He sighed, letting his head droop. He didn’t turn, knowing he’d see Rose standing at the open doors in her lovely lilac gown, her golden hair a backlit halo around her head. “Rose, please,” he begged, not entirely sure what he was asking her for.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Home. I don’t feel well.” It was true enough.

“Can I drive you back?” She huffed a short sigh when he shook his head. “Is there someone else?” she asked, sharply, sounding a trifle irritated.

He turned around at that, needing her to see the honesty on his face. “No, truly, Rose, there isn’t. I don’t care for anyone in that way.”

“Doctor, if I thought you cared even a little--”

“I do care!” he said, coming closer to where she stood. “I always have.”

“And yet you’d rather stake your hopes on some imagined girl who’ll moon at your feet while you recite Tennyson!” Rose stalked away a few steps before turning back, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Well, I hope she breaks your heart, whoever she is!”

“Rose--” He reached for her, but she backed away.

“Maybe then you’ll realize your mistake.”

This time, when she ran away from him, he felt the loss so acutely, it was as if he’d lost one of his limbs. The phantom pain spread through the rest of his body and he hung his head. He hated that he’d hurt her so dearly, even as he was certain he’d saved them both greater pain later on.

* * *

He was grateful to return to medical school when Fall returned. The last few weeks of Summer had been rather gloomy, with Amelia busy with her new household duties as Rory’s wife and Rose refusing to speak to him. The bright spots had been his evenings sitting with Sarah Jane in quiet companionship.

A few months passed, with regular letters from his aunt and Amelia, before he received one from Rose. The tone was a bit stilted, but she explained that Amelia had spoken to her and she believed they shouldn’t lose their friendship over their disagreement. It made him happy to write to her again, and after his first return letter, she insisted that she would hear no further apologies from him, writing _“None of us can choose where we will love.”_ Rose had always been the more generous spirit between them.

The letters were a balm to his weary soul. They cheered him as nothing else could when he returned to the boarding house at the end of a long day and saw one waiting. Letters from Sarah Jane made him long for the Summer loveliness of Blue Balustrades. Amelia revealed that she was some months pregnant with her first child, and excitement punctuated his astonishment as he realized the baby would be born right around the time he would return again.

And then, from Rose: _“I’ve met someone.”_

The world narrowed to elegant writing on a page.

_“We’re engaged.”_

He had to remember to breathe.

_“It’s set for next Summer.”_

He swallowed hard as she went on to say that his aunt had told her he was at the head of his class. _“Congratulations on your success, Chinny,”_ she wrote. _“From your old friend, Rose.”_

He couldn’t summon his usual enthusiasm for the written word as he penned back a response. He told her about being a delegate at a convention for the Royal Academy of Physicians and studying under a prominent surgeon. He also hoped to start his own practice in Leadworth once he graduated. His professors had said he was good enough to gain admission to a hospital in London, but any other place just wouldn’t feel like home. He confessed he hadn’t had much time for writing fiction, especially since publishers just weren’t interested in stories like his.

He hesitated, but couldn’t find it in him to congratulate her on her engagement. It would make it seem too real. Setting the letter aside, he turned to a fresh piece of paper.

_It’s been said that Leadworth is one of the prettiest stretches of land in all of Gloucestershire - Which is really just a nice way of saying ‘the village that time forgot’…_

* * *

Summer could never come fast enough, but that year it seemed to take even longer. The Doctor left a day early and stored his trunk at the train station, taking only his carpet bag as he walked home to Blue Balustrades. Even for the convenience of the buggy, he couldn’t have waited another moment to be home.

He caught sight of Sarah Jane on the porch as he neared the house and began to run without even thinking about it. She hurried out to meet him and he flung his bag to the ground, along with the bouquet of wild flowers he’d picked, flailing his hands in the air and laughing. She caught him around the neck and he lifted her off her feet, twirling her in his arms.

“Sarah Jane!” he cried, setting her back down so he could look down at her. “I’m home!”

“You blessed child!” she said, cupping his face in her hands and smiling, her eyes moist. “How I’ve missed you! I didn’t think you were coming until tomorrow, did you walk the whole way?”

“I did!” he said, proudly, moving back to fetch his bag. “I left my trunk at the station and took to the road, filling my lungs with Leadworth air! I got too homesick to wait until tomorrow.”

“Come up to the veranda and we’ll have some tea,” she said, taking his arm. “I want to hear everything.”

“Oh, let’s go slowly, Sarah Jane,” he said, looking up at the house with aching fondness. “I’ve dreamed of this moment all year. I want to soak it in. Blue Balustrades never changes, that’s the beauty of coming home.”

* * *

After settling back in his old room, Sarah Jane and the Doctor went to visit Amelia and her new baby. They brought with them a new quilt that Sarah Jane had made. Rory was out, but Amelia brought them lemonade in the front yard, because the weather was so lovely, then picked up her little baby girl from her cot and sat down next to the Doctor on the wicker love seat.

“Isn’t she perfect?” she asked of him, smiling down at the tiny person with Rory’s blue eyes.

“I do believe she’s the most perfect baby I’ve ever seen,” said the Doctor.

Sarah Jane chuckled knowingly. “Every baby is the sweetest and the best.”

“Before she came, I wanted a little boy so I could name him ‘Doctor,’” Amelia said, smiling when she saw her friend’s eyes light up. “But I wouldn’t trade baby Melody for a million baby boys.”

“You know, ‘Doctor’ could be a girl’s name, too,” he pointed out, but Amelia just shook her head on a laugh.

“Would you like to hold her?” she asked.

From the look on his face, one might have thought she’d asked if he could juggle knives. “Oh, no, no, no, I’ve never held a baby in my life!” he sputtered, edging away from her with his hands in the air.

“Well, if you’re going to be a real doctor, you’ll probably have to handle more than one!”

She thrust Melody into his personal space, and he had no choice but to take hold of her. With gentle hands, she positioned his arms to support her little head. Melody gurgled, waved her arms, and grasped at his chin. The wonder normally reserved for a breathtaking sunset or the magic of a well-written verse bloomed in his heart.

“Huh… Look at that,” he said, softly, unable to keep from staring. “Hello. I’m the Doctor.” He leaned closer, tilting his ear to her face. “What’s that? Yes, you do have the loveliest mummy in the world, but really, you should call her ‘mummy’ and not ‘big milk thing.’”

“Doctor, what are you on about?” asked Amelia as she and Sarah Jane laughed at his antics.

“Oh, did I never tell you?” he asked, mildly. “I speak Baby!”

They were still chuckling when Rory pulled up in the buggy. He climbed down, looking concerned, not seeing that they had company right away. He headed for the yard when Amelia called for him.

“She’s not doing any better today,” he said, coming through the gate. “I can’t say for sure if she’s going to pull through--” He stopped short, pausing in mid-stride when he saw Sarah Jane and the Doctor sitting there.

“Who’s not doing any better?” asked the Doctor, bouncing Melody lightly in his hold.

Rory looked at his wife, then at Sarah Jane. Both women looked down, guiltily. “You haven’t told him?” said Rory, mildly accusing.

“Told me what?” asked the Doctor, looking around at the three of them.

Amelia gently took Melody back into her arms. “We didn’t want to tell you suddenly,” she said. “Rose is sick. She caught scarlet fever from one of her students. The whole school had to be quarantined. They brought her home for treatment in case--” She glanced at Rory. “Well, just in case.”

The Doctor didn’t need clarification. He knew why a sick person would be brought home rather than have them stay at a hospital. He felt hollow inside, a dull ache echoing around in the cavern where his organs should be. His aunt had to lead him back home like a sleepwalker.

It wasn’t until he closed the door to his room that he recalled feeling a similar hurt years ago. On his first day at Blue Balustrades, after losing everything he held dear, he’d stood in this very room and let his world crash down around him. That was when he realized it was his heart that was missing. Quite without his permission, it had given itself away to Rose Tyler and he hadn’t even known.

* * *

Sarah Jane found him huddled in his bed that evening, surrounded by half a dozen crumpled and damp handkerchiefs. He didn’t appear to be weeping anymore, however, just occasionally heaving a dry sob now and then. She sat down on the edge of the mattress and extended a brown paper wrapped parcel to him.

“I went to the post office,” she said, quietly. “They had this for you.”

He sat up and took it from her, wiping his red nose on the hankie crushed in his fist. “Oh,” he sighed. “It’s my book.” At her surprised look, he explained, “A publisher accepted the manuscript last February and sent me a one hundred and fifty pound advance.”

“Well, you’re a great one for secrets,” she said. “Don’t just sit there, shaking like a leaf, open it!”

He obediently tore the paper and pulled out the hardback volume. The blue cover featured a watercolor print of a girl and a boy near a lake below the title _Leadworth Vignettes_. It almost didn’t seem real as he read his name at the bottom. “It’s not a romance or destined to be a classic or anything,” he said, running a finger over the gold leaf. “It’s just a humorous book of stories about Leadworth that I wrote in my spare time. But it’s mine.” He summoned up a small smile and handed it to her. “It’s all mine.”

“You do beat all,” she said, opening the cover and reading the dedication. “‘To Sarah Jane Smith for her unfailing love and support, and for Rose, who dared me to in the first place.’” She sighed lightly, shaking her head. “Well, now everyone will think I put you up to it. But that was very good of you, especially considering Rose.”

He hesitated, plucking at his coverlet with his hands nervously. “How sick is she… really?”

“I know it’s been a bad case from the start,” she said, grimly. “But her family’s refused to say anything else past the first week. Rory’s the one who would really know, he’s been nursing her during the day. She has the Tyler constitution in her favor, though. If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll be too stubborn to give in to the fever.”

“Sarah Jane, I’ve been so wrong,” he said, miserably. “If she were to--” He gulped. “Without knowing how I really feel…”

She set the book down in his lap and took hold of his shoulders, looking into his reddened eyes seriously. “Then, you should go and tell her, shouldn’t you?”

He stared at her. It was so obvious. “Yes,” he said, then scrambled out of the bed and picked up his jacket, throwing it on. “Yes!” he cried. He hurried to his bedroom door, then paused, went back, picked up his book, kissed his aunt’s cheek, and ran out of the house.

He didn’t stop running until he arrived at the Tyler’s large house, flushed and out of breath, clutching his book under one arm. Jackie would have refused to let the Doctor see Rose, but Pete took her aside, whispered something in her ear, and the woman reluctantly nodded, gesturing for him to go on up to her daughter’s room.

The sick room was dark, lit with only one oil lamp, far from Rose’s bedside. Even so, her waxen complexion was frightening, paler than her blonde hair, which was carelessly braided and draped across the pillow. Her neck looked swollen, moving thickly whenever she swallowed with a painful grimace. He could hear every one of her short and ragged breaths coming through her slightly parted lips.

Calling on bravery he knew he didn’t possess, he sat on the edge of her bed with a smile. “Hello, Rose,” he said, softly.

Her eyes fluttered open, appearing so dark he couldn’t even make out any hints of gold. “Doctor,” she said in a voice that was barely a whisper.

“I’ve come to ask you to go on one of our walks in the woods, like old times,” he said.

She tried to smile. “I wish I could go.”

“I brought you my book,” he said, holding it out like an offering. “I've been published, Rose. I wrote about Leadworth, just as you said I should,” he grinned, self-deprecatingly, “without any high-brow language.” Rose touched the cover, but didn’t take the book and he realized she was probably too weak to hold it up. Tilting it so she could see, he opened the cover to the dedication. “I dedicated the inscription to Sarah Jane and-- and to you.” His voice broke slightly and he cleared his throat to cover it, giving her another smile. “I was thinking of saving it as your wedding gift, and then I just decided I couldn't wait. You know how I am.”

She shook her head slightly. “There’s not going to be any wedding, Doctor.”

He put his hand on hers. “Now, don’t you talk like that,” he ordered in a firm voice. “I may not be a real doctor yet, but you’ll definitely get better under my care, I know it, I’ll make sure of it.”

With a squeeze of his fingers that must have taken all her strength, she brought his words to a halt. “I called it off,” she said. “It wouldn’t have been fair to Jack.” She licked her dry lips, her eyes glimmering with emotion. “I made my choice a long time ago and there will never be anyone for me, but you, Doctor.”

He closed her hand between both of his and leaned down to kiss her fingers. Squeezing his eyes shut, he silently vowed that he would never abandon Rose Tyler again.

* * *

The Tylers wouldn’t allow him to stay in their spare bedroom, saying it wasn’t proper, but the Doctor wouldn’t let that deter him. He came back every day to nurse Rose through her illness. He chatted with her and read aloud from her favorite books when she was bored and wrote in a little notebook while she slept. He fed her broth, carefully administered her medicines, and always made sure she had cool water to drink. Within a week of his arrival, she showed improvement and a month later, she was almost herself once more, enough to walk him back across the bridge over the lake at the end of the day.

“I finally read your book,” she told him with a smile. “It’s a fine piece. I knew you could do it.”

He smiled back. “I’ve already had a letter from the publishers, talking about a second edition. It was a long lesson to learn and I have you to thank for it. I’m going to keep writing while I finish my last two years of medical school and then I’m coming right back here. This is where the dreams dearest to my heart reside.”

She paused in the middle of the bridge, leaning back against the railing with a slightly skeptical look. “Are you certain? I always thought you’d go off to seek the romantic places you wrote about. You’re not going to find any crystal chandeliers or marble halls in Leadworth.”

He stepped in front of her, one hand going to her waist, the other to her cheek. “I don’t want some faceless melancholy maiden on a windswept moor to fall at my feet. I want golden hair and tongue-touched smiles and a quick wit that challenges me every moment of every day. I don’t want crystal chandeliers or marble halls, not if you aren’t there, too. I just want _you_ , Rose Tyler.”

The smile he’d just spoken of made an appearance as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Well, it’s about time.”

Pulling him down, she stood on her toes, giving him a soft, sweet kiss. Somehow, despite his best attempts at bungling it, their timelines had converged again. The road that had taken him to Leadworth and then beyond had spiraled back in, bringing him to where he needed to be. He finally knew that, no matter where life chose to take him, this was where he truly belonged. Right there, in Rose’s arms. Forever.


End file.
